


The Sum of its Parts

by JBMcDragon



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adventure Fic, Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-27
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBMcDragon/pseuds/JBMcDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:<br/><i>Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole.</i></p><p>The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/).
> 
> There will be an explicit section, and an alternate R-rated section. I'll put up big notes when that happens.
> 
> Extra note: This was originally written and posted on my LJ shortly after the first movie came out. I'm slowly shifting fic over here. Because that's the case, please ignore any and all notes, warnings, promises, etc. Well, except the bit about the NC-17 vs R version. That one you should pay attention to. ;)

Summary:  
_Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

  
Chapter One

The last thing he remembered was the bracers prying his jaws open. The feel of the creature's hard shell as it slithered past his teeth. Over his tongue. Delicate whiskers feathering over the back of his throat just before it forced its way down--

He twisted away, as if physical movement could destroy the memories. Shoved himself off the filthy little cot, a scream tearing out of his throat, hoarse and broken. Slammed himself into the wall and curled up into a fetal ball, trying to cover his head and wrap his arms around his legs at the same time.

Someone was speaking. Someone that wasn't him. He lifted trembling hands and clamped them over his ears, nails scratching against his head. Hands caught his arms, and he yelled before he realized they weren't gripping. They were gentle. Careful. Long, graceful fingers looped loosely around the large bones of his wrist.

Large bones. Scraped bones. Skin gone red and raw, as if they'd been pinned down. For a moment, a heartbeat, there was a flash of memory--

\--yanking against manacles uselessly, fighting before they could lock down his other arm, knowing it was pointless because there were too many of them but unable to stop--

And then, blessedly, the memory was gone. The voice was still speaking. Low and firm, as if persistence alone could draw him back.

"--T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Do you remember that? Jim. Look at me."

His gaze slid up, caught on a lean jaw, and skittered off again. He yanked away, turning his head into the wall. "C-can't--"

"You're safe now. You're here. Do you remember your name? Captain James T. Kirk."

A question swam up from the murky depths. "What's the T stand for?"

When the pause went on too long, he turned slightly, looking at the man who held his wrists.

"Tiberius."

He laughed. It sounded a little bit hysterical. "That's a shitty name."

The man before him inclined his head in acknowledgment. "It is true that it doesn't fit with the human standards of typically accepted and encouraged names. At one time, I believe it was considered quite popular." The man watched him steadily for a long moment. "Do you remember your name?"

He spoke slowly, drawing the words from the back of his throat. "James T. Kirk. Captain."

"Good."

"You just told me." Something cold and hard gripped his stomach. He kept his gaze fixed on the pale face before him, finding comfort in the fact that this news didn't seem to be unexpected.

"The _Shirai_ they used to extract information often leaves temporary memory loss. It should come back over the next few days."

Kirk nodded slowly. "Should?"

"If it died on time, and there was no severe cortical damage done."

This time when Kirk pulled a hand away, the man let him. He touched his throat, shuddering. _Delicate whiskers feathering over the back of his throat just before it forced its way down--_

And then it was gone. He thought he might vomit, and he wasn't sure why.

As if the impulse was scrawled across his expression, the man before him jumped up and hauled him to his feet, shoving him face-down into the corner.

Kirk heaved, guts roiling as stomach acid burned up his throat and seared his sinuses. He choked on vomit, felt it spatter off the concrete floor and hit his bare feet. Chunks came out with it, and he knew -- he _knew_ \-- he hadn't eaten recently.

When his body was done rejecting everything in his stomach, he saw it. Three inches long, with six legs and whisker-like appendages at the front--

He yelled and lurched back. Strong hands grabbed him, slowing his bolt, turning him so he couldn't see the insect-like body and pushing him down onto the cot.

He picked his feet up off the floor, scrabbling back into the corner again.

\--writhing in the forceps as they brought it closer to his face, the woman with the pointed teeth asking him, 'Are you sure you don't want to simply tell us, Captain?'--

\--legs on his tongue, a carapace against the soft palate of his mouth--

It was gone again, and he was curled in the corner, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. "Fuck!" he shouted, and resisted the urge to keep screaming.

"It's normal. I assume you're having memory bursts, but it's normal. A good sign--"

He grabbed a fistful of loose, filthy cloth, dragging the not-human closer. "Normal? This is normal? Is that supposed to be comforting? I don't even know your name! I don't know _my_ name except that you told me! I don't know where the fuck I am--"

"Commander Spock."

"What?" he snarled.

"Commander Spock."

An ally. He knew it, the same way he knew his name really was James T. Kirk. He loosened his grip slowly, patting the material smooth with shaking hands. "And the rest?"

"We've been taken by a splinter sect of the Casari species, a humanoid race currently in negotiations with the Federation. I believe this is the same splinter sect they've been trying to find and secure. If my deductions are correct, then they are attempting to start a war." He paused for a long moment. "I assume you are comforting yourself through touch, but if not please be assured my shirt is as smooth as it is possible to achieve."

Kirk pulled his hands back. "Right. Yeah." He licked his lips -- dry, chapped -- and tried not to glance around the room. He could see it anyway.

It wasn't very large. Perhaps fifteen by fifteen. The walls were solid gray concrete, the door just as impervious. There was a hole in the floor that served as a toilet, and only one cot -- the one they were sitting on. It had a single thin blanket, which was as filthy as they were.

Their clothes were shapeless, light weight, pajama-looking things. He doubted they'd been given a choice in the matter.

He found himself petting Spock again, smoothing out the sleeve material. Somehow, even lacking a memory wasn't so bad if he didn't think about it. Spock had been through major shit with him before. He didn't know how he knew that, but he did. "How long have we been here?"

"Five Casari days, if they've synchronized the lights with the solar cycle. Which I doubt, so probably longer."

"You doubt it?" Easier to talk, to ask questions, than to think. To remember.

"A very basic method of wearing a person down is sleep deprivation. In addition, the temperature changes don't seem to match the light levels."

"Oh." He kept petting. "Tell me -- again -- why we're here? What happened?"

Spock took a deep breath, as if he could explain the whole situation on that single inhalation. One long-fingered hand came down on Kirk's, stilling the nervous movement, and didn't let go. "The USS Enterprise -- our ship -- was assigned to escort the Federation's ambassador to the Casari homeworld. We landed safely, delivered the ambassador, and were ambushed two days later, still on-planet. I believe the rebel faction, who do not want to align with the Federation and who have been committing acts of terrorism against the rest of the planet as a whole, has us now. They have been trying to get information from you."

Kirk resisted the urge to twist his hand under Spock's, or start petting with his other one. He focused on Spock's words, instead. "Me. Why me?"

"You are the captain of the Enterprise."

He looked at Spock, frustrated. "You said you're the commander."

"Yes."

"Why don't they want information from you?"

There was a long enough pause to make Kirk suspicious. Then Spock said, "They do."

Kirk was silent for a moment, trying to read something -- anything -- off that composed face. Nothing. "Are you always this effusive?"

One eyebrow twitched, but Kirk had no idea what it indicated. "I am."

Kirk snorted despite himself. "Are you hurt? Have they--" He ran his eyes over the commander's clothes, looking for any sign of trauma. He tried not to think about the fact that he couldn't remember if he'd done this before or not.

"Vulcans are more difficult to harm than humans."

"I'll take that as a no, even though it seems more like a dodge." Kirk eyed Spock.

Spock looked at him expressionlessly in return.

"Right. Well." He leaned back, settling into the corner. One hand lifted -- the tremor was almost gone, he was relieved to see -- and scrubbed his hair out of his face. "Do we have an escape pl--"

\--slammed down onto a metal slab, cracking his head painfully against the steel. Trying to lunge back up, but unable to. Hands locking one wrist in place while he spat at the closest woman. She smiled, teeth pointed, and picked up a pair of forceps. A creature squirmed between them, thrashing back and forth--

"--fucking _hell_ ," he gasped, trying to draw air into lungs that seemed to have shut down. The heel of his hand was pressed into his temple, as if he could force the memories back. It seemed to work. They swirled into darkness, leaving him grasping to keep them at the last second.

"Jim? What do you remember?"

He dragged another breath down, blinking images out of his eyes. "I -- I don't. It's not staying. It's just there and gone again." When he finally looked up, Spock was frowning ever so slightly. "That's not good?"

"It is... a possible side effect." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

Kirk's eyes narrowed. He lowered his hand. "What are the other possible side effects?"

"Do you wish for a pertinent list or all the possibilities? Because there are many, depending on species and--"

"Spock! Tell me what I need to know!"

One eyebrow twitched upward again.

He modulated his tone, trying to sound normal. "Okay, not what I need to know, what you think I might want to know." Irritation was easy. He had the suspicion they'd played this game before. Often.

"Memory bursts are an indication that your mind is healing."

"But it wasn't perfect," Kirk accused. "You were hoping I'd remember the memory bursts." He glared. "What aren't you telling me?"

That eyebrow again.

Kirk seriously considered just hitting the commander and seeing if that would help. He'd probably hurt his hand more than the Vulcan's head, though.

Apparently the look he gave Spock was good enough, because Spock started explaining. "In most uses of a _Shirai_ and a human, recovery is complete within a matter of days. In fewer cases, there are problems with memory loss, brain function, and death."

Kirk gave a single laugh. It didn't sound entirely calm. "Is that all?"

"As you are neither dead nor brain dead, you are safe from those possibilities."

"That's a relief."

Spock seemed to miss the sarcasm. "Still possible are brain damage and permanent memory loss."

"And remembering then forgetting things is a bad sign."

"It is not unheard of, even in those who heal completely. But it is not ideal, no."

Kirk leaned back against the wall. The cot springs creaked under his weight. "How long have we been here? No, wait, five or more days. You already said that." He searched through his mind, and met only with a black void.

Impressions, knowledge -- both of those were still available to him. You couldn't _erase_ memories, really. Just block access to them. Fry the synapses that carried the stored information to your frontal lobes. He knew that, but he couldn't remember where he'd learned it. Spock said his memory would come back. He just had to wait. He trusted Spock with stuff like this. Didn't know why, but...

"You should rest. If you can," Spock said quietly.

Kirk glanced at him. He was familiar, even if Kirk couldn't remember meeting or interacting with him. "We're friends, aren't we?" He felt like they were. Or at least, he felt like he enjoyed Spock's company, but he had the impression it wasn't entirely for nice reasons. Spock, he knew suddenly, was fun to tease.

"We are comrades." Spock spoke with great care.

Kirk peered at him, trying to read something more in his expression. There was more emotion in his eyes than the rest of his face. Kirk thought he'd learned that over long months of practice, but couldn't be sure. The odd, upward angled eyebrows had a tendency to lift and fall, indicating emotion. Spock's mother was human.

He didn't know how he knew that.

Spock's mother was also dead.

He didn't know how he knew that, either.

"We're comrades," he echoed after a moment.

Spock nodded.

"Do we ever just... hang out?"

"Occasionally, when you desire companionship."

_Companionship_? Kirk's eyebrows shot upward. "I'm _gay_?" He was pretty sure that wasn't the case.

For the first time, Spock looked startled. It was gone in an eyeblink, but Kirk had his first taste of _why_ he found Spock fun to tease. It was a challenge. "I do not believe so. I simply meant that when you desire conversation, you sometimes invite me to... converse."

Kirk sat up straighter. He'd caught a flicker of discomfort there, too, as Spock searched for the right word. Oh, this was great. This was a far more effective distraction than anything else they'd talked about. "Do we 'converse' often? I mean, you're a fairly attractive man. And obviously Vulcans and humans are compatible. If I were gay, I could do worse than you. I think. I don't _remember_ the rest of the crew, but... you have lovely eyes." Large and dark brown, they were certainly the most expressive part of his face -- which wasn't saying much.

Spock's eyes flicked to a spot over Kirk's left shoulder. "Thank you." It sounded like those words actually caused him _pain_. "But this conversation is irrelevant to our current situation. You should rest."

Kirk peered at him. "You're awfully young for a commander."

"As you are young for a captain."

"Were they desperate?"

Spock looked at him again. "I beg your pardon?"

"Were they desperate? We're in some big war and losing, right? They're promoting people because half of their officers are dead?"

"No. You earned your place in a combat situation. The admiralty felt you did well and rewarded you with a ship."

Damn. "Big reward."

"You did very well. Now, Captain, if you would rest it would help your mind heal faster."

Kirk smoothed the wrinkles out of his sleeves. His feet were cold. "That would be the logical thing to do, huh Spock?" The quirk of the Vulcan's eyebrow told him he'd just said something notable, but he wasn't sure what. He felt like he ought to smirk, but wasn't sure why. He reached for memories, and got only a slick abyss.

"Yes, it would." Spock paused, then added, "Jim. You should rest."

He'd just woken up. His throat burned. Nothing here to wash away the taste of bile or sooth abraded skin.

And for all that, Spock was right. If it'd help his mind heal, and it seemed like his mind needed all the help it could get, he should rest. He scooted away from the top of the bed, laying down with his back to the wall, sliding behind Spock. "What about you?"

"I can sit here, or if you prefer, the floor. I will meditate and wake you if anything should happen."

Like if they came back. Kirk nodded and pillowed his head on his arm. "Sit here, then. When I wake up, we're coming up with an escape plan."

Spock inclined his head. "I will describe the ones you've formulated and cast aside already, and perhaps we will think of something further."

He couldn't decide if it was soothing that Spock would fill him in, or disturbing that he'd apparently already tried to escape -- and failed.

It didn't matter. They'd come up with a new plan. One that worked.

Much to his surprise, sleep claimed him almost as soon as he'd closed his eyes.

**

[Fic index](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/449002.html)  
[Real writing](http://www.jbmcdonald.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have *edit: 82 pages done and mostly edited, and probably another 30 to write. I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days. Chapters will be less than 10 pages long (this one is 8), so we have a while. ;)

  
Spock wasn't worried. There was no point in worrying. Worrying would not make Jim's memories return faster, nor would it provide them with any solutions. It might, in large quantities, make Spock develop an ulcer, and that would be to no one's benefit.  
  
While Captain Kirk slept fitfully, stretched out on the single-width cot, Spock meditated. He was the very picture of Vulcan poise. His father would have been proud.  
  
His mother would have given him that sad smile she'd turned on him so often in recent years, and told him he was a fine Vulcan man. He tried not to think about that. It made him, to his shame, uncomfortable. Which wasn't logical. Her words were praising. He had nothing to feel shame about.  
  
Spock glanced over at the captain -- at Jim, as he'd become over the last several months -- checking that his breathing was still regular. His skin was pale, more so than usual, the blue veins at his throat and over his eyelids far more obvious. His lower lip was split. Angry red flesh ringed his wrists and ankles, crusted with little scabs. In five days, he'd lost weight. They both had, but Spock was more worried -- concerned, really, only because weight loss would affect their escape possibilities -- about the captain. Humans were frail. They didn't take well to sudden shifts in environment or sustenance.   
  
Jim's hair was greasy and limp, his clothes dirty, his skin grimy. His hands were bruised from pounding at the door, and though he didn't seem to realize it, his voice was raw from shouting.   
  
And now his memory wasn't right.   
  
There was nothing Spock could do about that. He returned to his meditation.   
  
When Jim murmured in his sleep, it was only the need to let him rest as long as possible that made Spock reach back and settle a hand on his knee. Jim liked to touch. He'd refrained from doing so after the first few times Spock had pulled away, but Spock watched him with the other crew members. He liked to touch. Presumably, touch would make him more comfortable in slumber, too.  
  
And if Spock could ease a little of bit of safety and comfort down into his resting captain through something so simple as contact, then that would only help in the healing of his mind.  
  
Jim settled down. Tension around his eyes smoothed out. Spock resumed a meditation position, aware when Jim shifted so that his shins rested against Spock's seat.  
  
Spock didn't mind.   
  
When he heard footsteps in the corridor outside, he reached back and touched Jim again, gently. "Captain."  
  
Jim woke with a strangled breath, kicking free and shoving up to one elbow. Blue eyes darted around, but little recognition entered them. He didn't seem to know quite why he was awake.  
  
"There's someone in the corridor," Spock explained, as if he always explained simple things.   
  
Jim turned to watch the door. "Should we rush them?"  
  
Spock gave him a single long look, then answered calmly, "If they open the door, they'll be prepared for that. I believe this might be a meal." He knew that the likelihood of Jim's memories reappearing during his nap had been nil, and yet he'd had some hope.  
  
Jim looked confused. "We can't rush them if it's a meal?"  
  
A chunk of the door shoved inward, sticking out obscenely from the metal. Wordlessly, Spock rose and unlatched the top, checking as he always did that there was no way to reach through or even see what was on the other side. Then he pulled out the cardboard trays and watched as the metal slide banged back into place, leaving them with a flat, unremarkable door.  
  
Barbaric but effective.  
  
He carried the trays back to the cot.  
  
"No utensils?" Jim asked, sharp eyes looking over the trays.  
  
"No."   
  
"Those are pears in syrup. We're supposed to eat with our fingers?"  
  
Spock absolutely refused to be shaken by Jim's complete inability to remember. "I believe so. They stopped giving us forks after you made a rudimentary weapon out of one."  
  
Jim thought about that for a moment, taking one tray. "I made a shiv?"  
  
"That is what you called it, yes." Spock sat down and considered his food. Peaches in syrup -- no doubt from a can -- a mess of green vegetables tangled together like long blades of grass -- cooked beyond any lingering nutritional value -- a piece of bread and a thin slab of meat. This, then, was the dinner meal.  
  
"Man. I had a good idea and I totally botched it." Jim's hands were shaking again. Spock noticed but said nothing as Jim set the plate down on his crossed legs. Spock was just preparing to hand over his meat when Jim began fingering the greens.  
  
"Don't eat those," Spock said, the words coming out sharper than he'd meant. They'd been trading as recently as _yesterday_ , and he'd still forgotten? Of course. It didn't matter how recent the memory was. It was gone.   
  
Jim looked at him, gold brows drawn in. "Why not? I mean, granted, they look like... dark green, soggy hay. That's so disgusting."  
  
It was the exact thing he'd said three days ago, when their captors had introduced this particular greenery into their diet. Spock ignored it. "It isn't compatible with human physiognomy. You may have my meat, and I will eat your... greens." They'd been guessing at a name for them. Jim had come up with some rather clever ones, but Spock had considered himself the winner when, upon declaring them slightly salty, he noted that they appeared to be sexual objects from ancient human legends about half-fish people who lived in the ocean. Jim had choked on his peaches, slapped Spock roughly on the shoulder, and nearly cackled, "Mermaid tentacle porn? Spock, I didn't know you had it in you!"  
  
But Jim didn't remember that, either.   
  
"You can eat these? Aren't you half human?"  
  
"It does not seem to cause me the same intestinal distress it does you." Without asking, Spock scooped the pile of greens off Jim's plate and slid his meat over.   
  
Jim looked from one tray to the other, then finally wiped his fingers off on his pants and picked up the bread. He stared at it for a long moment.  
  
Spock stared at his own food, highly conscious of what his captain was doing. More conscious of how it differed from earlier days.  
  
They didn't tell you how to deal with an amnesic ranking officer in any academy classes. He certainly hadn't encountered this dilemma before. But then, nothing about anything the Enterprise had been involved in seemed to follow the usual rules.  
  
"Yesterday you dipped it in the peach sauce," Spock said at last, as if it didn't matter. "You seemed to think that was more edible."  
  
Jim looked at him, and there was an edge in his gaze. As if he were only half a step from panicking. "Oh. Good idea." He dipped it, then took a bite and nodded more enthusiastically than the agreement warranted. "That is better."   
  
Spock focused on his own meal. They both ate everything. Food was too scarce to leave crumbs behind.   
  
When they were finished, the tray box opened again. Spock rose, Jim rose, too, and they walked over to it. Spock stood to one side while Jim examined it, seeming slightly more himself as he peered this way and that before temporarily admitting defeat. They both set their trays back inside, it slid shut, and they were alone again.  
  
"So," Jim began. He paused, licked his lips, and fumbled backward in uncertainty until he found the cot. "What now?"  
  
Spock remained standing, his hands linked behind his back. "Shortly they will dim the lights and we will be expected to sleep."  
  
"Right. But we're not going to sleep."  
  
"We should get all the rest we can."  
  
The captain gave him a dubious look. "You really want to sleep? We could come up with an escape plan."  
  
Spock felt his lips tighten, and tried to relax. "Your last escape plan was what made them decide to stop asking questions and use the _Shirai_ instead." He took a deep breath and exhaled, looking anywhere but at Jim. "I believe we should wait. The Enterprise will be looking for us."  
  
"Well, we should help them find us. And waiting around here isn't gonna do that! God, Spock--" he jumped up, pacing the tiny cell in agitation. "I can't just sit around and -- and -- I don't remember _anything_! I'm just supposed to sit here -- or sleep here -- and keep -- keep not--" He dragged his fingers through his hair, sending it into spiked disarray.   
  
It took Spock a moment to realize that the snarl that came out of Jim's mouth wasn't of frustration, but pain. Spock stepped forward quickly, grabbing Jim's arm. Jim crumpled, his face white, his fall slowed by Spock's grip.   
  
Blue eyes flew open, staring at something only he could see. His throat worked, arteries bulging against skin.   
  
This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. "Captain." No response. "Captain," louder this time. But still no response. Spock reached down, wrapping his fingers around the bare flesh of a bony wrist and bracing himself against the empathic whiplash. Emotions hit him, flooding down the touch of skin, and he pushed them back. Carefully, he threaded his own stoicism through his mind, sliding it down to try and impose some order in Jim.   
  
He felt buffered, beaten, slammed against. He refused to budge, adding layer after layer of calmness and security to stormy feelings. The connection wasn't deep enough to see thoughts, share memories. Just to skim the surface, give Jim something to hold onto. Just some sort of stability in the maelstrom.  
  
And then Jim's eyes rolled behind his lids, and he began to seize.   
  
There was no point anymore in saying Jim's name. Spock grabbed him and rolled him onto his side, then watched helplessly, unable to do anything else of use.  
  
 _Brain damage_ , a small voice in the back of his mind murmured. Given this new turn of events, it was entirely logical to think so.  
  
He counted breaths until Jim stopped twitching. Then, gingerly, he felt for Jim's pulse. There was no stirring of emotion under the hot skin, but there was a heartbeat. Carefully, Spock slid his fingers into Jim's mouth, checking for anything the captain might choke on. When he was sure Jim's airway was clear, he wormed his arms beneath shoulders and knees, lifting the unconscious form effortlessly.   
  
Jim's head fell back, exposing his throat and the rough line of his windpipe. Spock settled him on the cot, rolling him to his side once more. Without medical equipment, there wasn't anything else Spock could do. The seizure couldn't have been large, or he would have lost bodily control.   
  
More than he had, that was.  
  
The second day they'd been here, they'd staged a seizure and called for help. It had, of course, been the captain's idea. Spock didn't think it would work, and he'd been right. No one had come. Now, he sat at the end of the bed, one hand on Jim's bare foot, feeling for any emotional changes. Anything that would suggest a return to consciousness.   
  
There was nothing.  
  
**  
  
He was cold.   
  
As first awarenesses went, it was a crappy one. It would have been far preferable to wake up aware of... of... breasts. Yes, breasts were nice. Coffee was nice, too. He really enjoyed waking up to the smell of coffee. Maybe his yeoman would start leaving hot coffee at the foot of the bed in the morning. Was he allowed to ask for that? A better question was, would she know if he wasn't? As Bones kept muttering, they seemed to do all sorts of things they weren't supposed to do, because no one had said they shouldn't. The blessing and curse of a mostly inexperienced crew. Not that Bones had any more experience, Kirk had pointed out, but Bones had been reading the rulebook all over again.  
  
Right now, it was just cold. He shivered and moved backward, into heat stretched along the length of his spine. An arm circled his waist, pulling him closer, and a soft, musical voice said, "Jim?"  
  
Not musical. Not soft really, either. He thought he jerked, but barely seemed to move. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his eyes weighed with stones. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.   
  
A shiver wracked him, arms and legs curling in automatically. The arm around his middle vanished, tucking a blanket higher beneath his chin before sliding underneath, under the edge of his shirt, though another layer of cloth separated them.   
  
"Spock," Jim tried to say, remembering now that they were together, here. But it didn't come out right. His tongue moved thickly in his mouth.  
  
"Rest. Your mind has been through a great deal of trauma."  
  
He shuddered again, clenching his teeth against chattering. "S'cold." That came out better. Understandable, at least.  
  
"I know. I had not wanted to block fresh air from circulating while you were unconscious, but if you'd care to turn toward me... I'm afraid I can't fit on that side of the cot."  
  
Kirk tried to twist. He hadn't managed much other than a head roll when he felt Spock move, grabbing him by his clothes and pulling him around until his arms were tucked between their bodies, and his head was nearly resting on Spock's chest.   
  
It was almost too much. The world swam drunkenly, spinning in lazy circles around him. He wondered what Sam was eating for lunch. It looked like Sugar Bears, but they weren't allowed to have Sugar Bears.   
  
Arms wrapped around him, sliding under his shirt again as if they could share body heat. Hands spread across his back, searingly hot. He hissed and shuddered, feeling his own warm breath catch between their bodies and wash back across his cheeks. The moisture cooled, leaving him chilled, and he turned his face into Spock's neck.  
  
Better. That was better. He shivered again.   
  
It was becoming easier to think. Still no coffee, and the only breasts around were man-breasts. Of course, he hadn't specified. He didn't think his -- his -- who was going to bring him coffee?   
  
Memory wisped away as his head cleared. Lying on a cot in a freezing cell, wrapped up in Spock's arms--  
  
Jim pulled away, but couldn't get far. Far enough to look at Spock's Adam's apple, and that was about it. "Spock?" His voice was a croak.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
There was a long moment of silence, and when Spock began to talk it seemed extra wooden, somehow. "As the temperature tends to drop into uncomfortable ranges for both humans and Vulcans, and as there is only one cot, we had agreed it was in our best interests to share body heat. In addition, I believe you were going into shock."  
  
"Do you ever speak normally?" Kirk shuddered again, muscles bunching and hands curling into fists. He leaned his head forward, resting it against Spock's shoulder. It wasn't comfortable, but at least it was warmer.  
  
"Not as you consider the word normal, no." There was the barest of hesitations, and then, "You remember who I am?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And where we are?"  
  
"We're in a cell," he said irritably. Silence met this statement, filled with expectation. "With the... the..." A disturbing blankness met his mind. "Shirai." It was the first word that floated out of the murk.   
  
He was with Spock. Spock was his friend. They worked together on... on... a ship, he thought. It all hovered tantalizingly out of reach. There, in the shadows, as if he thought hard enough he could make it out. But never quite could.  
  
"The _shirai_ is an insect-like species. Not unlike, in appearance, one of your earth centipedes," Spock said quietly.  
  
"Not where we are."   
  
"No."  
  
Kirk opened his eyes and stared at Spock's neck. There was an imperfection in the skin, just there, and it struck Kirk as odd, somehow. "What happened to my memory?"  
  
Quietly, leadenly, Spock told him what had happened. Who he was and how they'd come to be there. Where 'there' was. Bits of memory returned -- he remembered throwing up.   
  
"Did the vomit get cleaned up?" he asked, when Spock finished speaking.  
  
"No. That doesn't fall under the duties of First Officer."  
  
Kirk barked a painful laugh, and then in the next instant was unsure if that had been a joke or not. He felt warmer. That was something, at least. "Tell me the truth. How fucked are we?"  
  
"Understanding that there is no specific definition for this form of the word, I believe you would say that we are very fucked."   
  
It sounded so prim coming from Spock's mouth that Jim laughed again, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the warm skin of Spock's neck. He didn't think the laugh sounded like his own. He stopped, breathing.   
  
Spock smelled nice. A bit like deserts (and how did he know that if he couldn't remember a desert? he hissed to himself) and sunshine. A bit like minerals. Like a meteorite, he thought. "You smell good." The words were out, mumbled, before he could stop them. He didn't really care.  
  
Spock, however, stiffened. "Captain, I don't believe you're in your right mind."  
  
"Now I'm 'Captain', huh?" Jim smiled softly, too drained to put any effort into it. "Relax, Commander. I'm not going to use my rank to seduce you."  
  
"That's not--"  
  
"I must be crazy to think you smell nice?"  
  
"No, I didn't--"  
  
Kirk chuckled. Spock stopped talking, as if aware he was only adding to Jim's amusement.   
  
"I believe you should rest," Spock said.  
  
"How much resting have I done?" And yet, despite the cold, he could feel sleep dragging at his eyelids again.  
  
"I do not think unconsciousness counts as resting." Spock's hand moved slightly, following the indentation of Kirk's spine.   
  
Jim roused himself. "Next time I wake up, will I remember less again?" He already felt off-balance. Off-kilter. He searched for anything in his mind, and got only general information. He could sing the alphabet or recite rules, but he couldn't say when or how he'd learned them. He knew he had family, but names and faces eluded him.  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know," Spock said quietly. "I believe that, barring another seizure, your mind should continue to heal. Memory should return."  
  
"Awful lot of 'should's, Spock." Kirk's words were slurring. His eyelids were heavy. A single shiver worked its way down his spine. His toes were cold.   
  
"I'll attempt to come up with a more accurate response."  
  
Kirk smiled. "Okay. You do that." And despite his best efforts, his mind slid into the murk.  
  
For a short while, he remembered in his dreams.  
  
*******


	3. The Sum of its Parts 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17, but that's a long way in coming.  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: Novella length

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

[Chapter One](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html)   
[Chapter Two](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/502047.html)

Chapter Three

Spock lay awake through the coldest hours, arms wrapped around Jim, a crick developing in his neck, trying to compute possibilities without enough information.

Jim shivered. There was no way to make him warmer. He was as covered with the thin blanket as they could get, with Spock holding him as close as possible. Vulcan body temperature tended to be slightly lower than human; they'd evolved in a desert. Still, any body heat helped, and Spock needed the warmth as much as Jim in shock did. Spock had even slid his arms under Jim's shirt, trying to add to their combined body heat and ignoring the discomfort of another's emotions. Transmitted through flesh, he couldn't entirely block them out. At this juncture, he believed he and Jim were better off with the added layer of clothing than sharing body heat completely. He might be wrong. But given the human dislike of nakedness (and Jim's breath on his neck, entirely too pleasant), he thought it was a sensible precaution to remain dressed.

Jim shivered again. Spock put it out of his mind.

If Jim had not gone into seizure, if it was a simple matter of no memories, Spock might have been able to do something. A mind meld with a human was a delicate matter, not to be undertaken lightly. It had been done, of course, and if one did not care how the human fared afterword, it could be done easily. But he'd deemed it best if Jim's memories returned on their own. To consider everything logically, Spock was young as Vulcans went, and had not had the opportunity to mind meld with many humans. Or any humans other than his mother, who had consented so he might learn. Therefore, it was only logical to have waited to see if Jim's memories would heal.

Jim shivered again.

It didn't matter, now. Now that Jim had seized once, tampering with his mind was a chance Spock couldn't take. It could induce another seizure, or cause brain death entirely.  
Now, he had no recourse, except to trust that the frail human body would somehow mend itself.

There were footsteps in the corridor. Jim shivered again. Spock disentangled himself and slid out from under the blanket, climbing over his sleeping companion. For a brief moment, he considered rushing the door. Obviously, spending time with Jim was impairing his reasoning. The guards never came in groups smaller than five, and he couldn't overwhelm all of them without putting his captain in jeopardy. Still, by the time the door opened to reveal heavily armed guards, he was standing in front of the cot, ready.

They didn't seem to care where he was standing. The one in the front simply pulled his trigger.

Spock leaped. Tranquilizers hit him mid-shoulder. Blackness washed over him.

His last thought was that he'd managed not to fall on Jim.

**

Jim woke suddenly, and shoved up to a sitting position. He tried to focus on the room around him, realizing that the door had just closed.

A man stood in the middle of the cell, tall and thin, with black hair and a sallow complexion. He wore the same ugly off-white pajamas that Jim wore.

"Jim," the man said. "You're awake."

Jim looked at him warily, then looked slowly around the room again. He wasn't sure what he thought he'd see. Whatever he expected, it wasn't there. Something was wrong. He eyed the man, and stood slowly. The concrete floor was freezing on his bare feet. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself, and stood tall as if the cold didn't bother him.

"Jim," the man said, beginning to frown. "Are you all right?"

"I'm... yeah, I'm fine."

"Has your memory returned? Do you remember who I am?"

He eyed the man. Obviously, the man expected to look familiar. Just as obviously, Kirk didn't think he'd ever seen this guy before. "Spock?" he hazarded, and was rewarded with a winning smile.

That wasn't Spock. Sure, his memory was hazy even of recent events (what planet were they on? Had Spock ever told him?), and he'd only seen Spock's Adam's apple when he'd opened his eyes, but...

"Should we lay back down? Surely you're tired. And..." He glanced around as if checking to be sure no one could hear. "I wanted to talk to you. Quietly."

Lay back down. Cuddle up with a complete stranger. Kirk's skin crawled. He just smiled and nodded, gesturing to the cot.

But "Spock" was still, watching him with a concerned look on his face. "The last time I saw you, you had no memory. Now you're looking at me like you suspect me of foul play. I thought -- I hoped -- you would know..." His brows drew in. "Did they fool you so completely? Jim -- how do I convince you?"

Kirk stared at him, now openly wary. He edged toward the wall, gaze flickering around the room for a weapon of some kind. "I don't know what you're talking--"

"The man they've had in here. The man with the pointed ears. He was an impostor. They have some sort of empathic ability. I know that your psi rating is high. I'd hoped you'd be able to resist it..." He smiled sadly, spreading his hands out, palms up. "What can I do to help you?"

Pointy eared people with empathic abilities. Yes, that was right. More than that: he'd had one show him a whole world, once, though he couldn't remember who or why. If they could show him a world, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, then couldn't they wipe out his memory, too?

Doubt rose. And yet -- this was not Spock.

But was his certainty only created by the empath?

"They put him here a full day ago. When they brought you back from questioning. They took me away, and used the _shirai_ \--" His voice faltered, and he looked away. "They know everything, now. And I -- I broke, Jim. They told me that the man in here, he'd hurt you if I didn't talk. If I didn't guess at what the fleet's next steps would be. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kirk heard himself say, and drew back again. He didn't trust this man.

And yet, if that had been an empath, could he trust his feelings? People with amnesia didn't usually recognize friends and family -- at least, if popular media could be believed. Yet he'd felt an affinity for the pointy-eared Spock. Maybe that implied someone meddling in his head, rather than true memory. Maybe --

\--metal between his teeth prying his jaw open and the sharp pain of skin splitting, the copper of blood and being unable to close his mouth again no matter how hard he tried while the woman walked toward him, smiling with her too-sharp teeth, saying, "are you sure you don't want to simply tell us--"

He was kneeling on the floor, concrete hard under his legs, and there were hands on him.

"Jim. Jim!"

He fought them off, shoved away, slammed into the wall and crouched there, gasping.

Spock stared at him, wide-eyed. "Jim," he said softly. "What's going on? What did that bastard do to you?"

_"You're safe now," a calm voice said, fingers looped loosely around his wrists._ He rubbed the back of a shaking hand across his mouth, half expecting to see blood. There was none.

"Jim." Spock sat across from him, not trying to touch, keeping his hands in plain view. "This is serious. I don't know what they've done, but--"

"The _shirai_ sometimes causes memory loss in humans," he began, but Spock cut him off.

"They told you that? The _shirai_ doesn't do more than release inhibitions. It doesn't cause--" he stopped, shook his head as if pained, and started again. "I can't convince you. But I'm afraid for you. For whatever they did. We need to get out of here."

The other Spock never had told him of any escape plans -- none that they'd thought of, none that they'd tried -- except rushing the door. That Spock had only ever warned against trying more. "If you have any ideas," he said, waving a trembling hand around to include the whole room, "I'm open to suggestions."

Spock nodded quietly. "I do. I overheard them talking. They don't know how good Vulcan hearing is. They're going to come for us. A few hours. They're planning an execution, Jim, and -- do you recall their ceremonies? It's outdoors. _Outside_."

Kirk nodded slowly. Outside, they could maybe escape.

This wasn't Spock. It had to be a trap.

Because his feelings that an empath may have mucked with told him so? He rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple. "Escape is good." He could always ditch this Spock later, if he had to. How, he had no idea, but...

Spock nodded. "You don't have to trust me, Jim. I know it's hard. Just... if you want to stay here, I'll go and send back a rescue."

"No," he said quickly. "I'll go." If only because he wasn't going to be locked in here forever. Who knew if Spock would even succeed at escaping?

Who knew if this was Spock at all?

"I'll go," he said again. "We'll go together."

**

"We will hurt him, if you don't cooperate."

Spock remained staring straight ahead, as silent as he'd been since he'd woken from the drugs. They could not force him to speak, if he didn't wish it. They'd tried hurting him, even before they'd used the _shirai_ on Jim. They'd learned it wouldn't work.

Now they were threatening Jim. That wouldn't work, either.

"If you don't speak, we'll tear his fingernails out. And we'll let you listen."

Spock turned his head slowly, regarding the woman. "As a commander in the Federation's Starfleet, I am not authorized to speak with terrorists."

They would not use Jim to destroy the Enterprise.

Spock faced forward again.

"I thought you said he was empathic!" the woman snarled. She stormed out of his range of vision, and a moment later there was a scuffling. A man Spock guessed to be a scientist stumbled into view, holding a small machine. A single red light blinked on the front.

"He is!" the scientist protested. "When he was in the cell it kept flaring--"

Spock looked more closely at the machine, but it gave him no new information.

"Well he's not being very empathic now!" Hands landed on his shoulders from behind, fingers squeezing as the woman leaned down, putting her cheek to his. He barely noticed the threat she hissed, too preoccupied with battening down his mental defenses as her skin came to rest against him. He would _not_ recoil.

She shoved back, storming around his chair and into view. Cautiously, he flexed his fingers, testing the restraints. The metal shackles binding his hands to the arms of the chair didn't give.

"Wait -- wait -- do that again!" the scientist said with excitement.

The woman looked at him. Even Spock's gaze twitched over. Then she turned and smiled, walking close. "We'll scoop out Jim's eyes and let you watch."

"No, it wasn't that." The scientist frowned.

Spock let an eyebrow rise.

The scientist hadn't yet looked away from his machine. "Touch him again."

The woman reached out. Her hand hovered over Spock's. He didn't curl his fingers under. He sat perfectly still as she lowered her arm, settling her palm across his knuckles.

Emotion slammed against his defenses. He braced, schooling himself to remain expressionless.

"That's it! That's it!" The scientist grinned, looking up. His machine was half full of lights, now, flickering like little red ants, swarming across the ground. "Touch empathy! Try -- try thinking at him hard or something!"

Spock's second eyebrow rose to meet the first. "Are you truly going to attempt to emote me to death?"

She smiled, and he knew he'd misspoken. "It's already got you talking, hasn't it?" she said quietly.

He stopped talking. Rage hit him, lashing across his mind in a way pain could never affect his body. It wasn't his. It _wasn't_ his. He fell back on recitation, the children's method of controlling touch-telepathy and grounding the mind. He could hear her thoughts whispering through his head, screeching louder and louder. Distantly, he was aware that the more he hammered up walls, the more the scientist encouraged the woman.

When another set of cool fingers slid along his neck, he couldn't stop from jerking away. These were images of pleasure, of a sick sort of release that came from the spilling of blood, of listening to someone scream--

Spock twitched away again, but couldn't escape the images hammering at his mind.

And then they were gone.

He took a single, shaky breath and held it, determined to stop it from trembling on the way out.

The woman kneeled in front of him, her arms crossed over his legs. Thin lips stretched into a smile. "You didn't move when we hurt you physically. Imagine that. Now why don't you contact that ambassador you dropped off, and we won't touch you again."

**

The cell was cold. He'd relented, finally, curling under the single thin blanket next to the maybe-Spock. Body heat had warmed him, and the shivering that started up subsided again.

Execution in a few hours.

The man he'd felt comfortable with possibly a spy.

Or possibly the man he was curled against now was a spy.

Life was just fucking brilliant.

And if this guy was a spy and the whole thing was a trap, where was the other Spock? And if this wasn't a spy, then if they didn't escape they'd be dead.

There were holes in this Spock's story. He'd offered to let Jim stay and send back help, but if they were going to be executed that wasn't really helpful. He'd said he'd seen Jim without a memory but then seemed surprised at how absent Jim's memories were.

But if he and Spock were friends -- and everything in Jim said yes -- he couldn't see himself being friends with someone as emotionless as that other Spock had been. His thoughts twisted and looped, getting nowhere. He needed to _remember_.

"Jim?" Breath washed over the back of his neck. He resisted the urge to pull away.

"What?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." Everything was just fucking fine.

**

"I will not," Spock said quietly and firmly, ignoring the way his muscles had locked and sweat dripped down his back, "lure the ambassador here so you can kill him."

His captor's eyes, a disturbing green with irises twice as large as any human's, danced up to the man Spock could feel beside him. "I think he likes being touched."

The hand on his shoulder lifted, the backs of large fingers stroking down from the point of his ear.

More images -- watching as his thumb crushed into an eyesocket, the feeling of wetness as the ball burst -- feeding off the terror of a prepubescent girl as he tore her away from her family -- feeling aroused as he peeled the skin off a conscious man--

He couldn't keep them out. He slammed up walls. They were torn down. He forced his mind through the recitation of Vulcan Laws as pertained toward the discussion of culture among alien species. It was ripped through. He tried to remember the names of the crew--

Thoughts wormed into his mind, through the cracks in his defenses. Thoughts he didn't want, and couldn't get rid of. They shoved his own self aside, bleeding into his memories.  
Focus. _Focus_. He shuddered with the sudden desire to _hurt_ \--

Not his. It was _not his_. He grabbed for the thin strands of sanity, wrapping logic around himself like armor. As very small children Vulcans learned about their telepathy and how to control it through their parents, through the simple--

\-- _redred rage hammered against his shields_ \--

\--simple touch of elder Vulcans, guiding young minds until the logical pathways were strong. As they grew they learned to chant, to meditate, to--

\-- _lust curled in the pit of his stomach, while someone screamed, sobbed, begged_ \--

\--to meditate, to think around emotion, find the reason for it and root it out like a weed. Those children who learned slower were looked down upon in a million subtle ways, until they learned how--

\-- _his chest felt constricted with angerfurylust the need to move, to run, to chase_ \--

\--learned how to control it. Even when at their most vulnerable, touching others who had no such control. Even on board a starship with alien species that refused to understand touching was inappropriate. He could control this.

\-- _chase it down and rip out her fucking throat to watch the wash of blood_ \--

He could control this.

\-- _listen to it scream and feel the shudder of thrill at the sound_ \--

He could--

\-- _the joy of bones shattering under his grip_ \--

\--had to keep his walls up, that was all, think of--

\-- _the way his heart might just burst from his chest with excitement_ \--

\--think of -- of -- learning to control it and--

\-- _adrenaline slamming into his muscles_ \--

\--control it and -- think of anything else -- the defensive maneuvers of _Suss Mahn_ , defending the body as one might defend the mind--

\-- _and muscles slamming through defenses_ \--

And then it was gone, memories, images, emotions all tearing away from his mind. He gasped for air. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Blood coated the inside of his mouth.

The woman was still kneeling in front of him. Smiling. "I don't think he likes your emotions, Sate."

Fingers swirled patterns on Spock's shoulder. It was all he could do not to flinch. "No one likes my emotions." Sate sounded pleased.

She looked at Spock. "Are you ready to talk to the ambassador?"

He inhaled painfully. Fear was illogical. Emotions couldn't hurt him. He just needed to focus on his defenses. His voice was tight. "I will not lure the ambassador here."

Her smile didn't dim. "Sate, why don't you and our friend have another mind-share. I'm going to go get a few more people to join in." With a friendly pat on Spock's knee, she rose and sauntered away.

Spock's heart slammed against his bones. The hand trailed up his shoulder, skimming the hem of his shirt. He braced. He breathed. He shored up his mental defenses in the time they'd given him. And he waited.

The edge of the cloth. Down toward the indentation of his spine. Pressing material into skin. And then, gently, fingers slipped up the nape of his neck.

Emotions smashed into him.

He focused on ritual. The ritual of _kal-if-fee_ and the rules under which combat could be engaged.

They beat against mental walls, demanding entry to his mind.

He focused on _kahs-wan_ and _tal'oth_ , and the differences within them.

Memories and images found weak points in his exhausted shields. They flashed behind his eyes.

He opened his mouth on a gasping breath. They were emotions. He would not break. They were emotions. He would not--

He would not--

He--

**

 

[Fanfic index](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/449002.html)  
[Novel website](http://www.jbmcdonald.com)  
[Relax, Cupcake!](http://greysterling.com/cupcake/) (My favorite ST rec site, run by [](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html#)[**gray_sterling**](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html#).)

While how fast I write/post is not dependent upon feedback (One chapter a week, guys, one chapter a week. ;-D), I had a rough night's sleep and I sure wouldn't mind the extra smile feedback brings. >.>

J


	4. Fic: The Sum of its Parts 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/).

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17, but that's a long way in coming.  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: Novella

Summary:  
_Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). 

 

[Chapter One](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html)  
[Chapter Two](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/502047.html)  
[Chapter Three](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/507237.html)

Chapter Four

They had a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, but it would have to do. Wait for the executioners to come. Be escorted outside. Break free. That was the plan.

Kirk had another plan, and as the door opened and the two guards came in with weapons pointed, he thought his plan had even less chance of success. He was going to do it, regardless.

Was it too easy or just luck that the guard told them to put their hands on their heads, but didn't actually bind them in any way? Or that when they left the cell, it was with the prisoners and guards staggered, making it less likely that Kirk'd get shot when he tried something? He didn't know. He didn't know, and he couldn't remember how they'd walked him out before.

He waited until they'd gone up a flight of stairs, past another set of guards and out of the cell block before making his move.

"Spock," he called casually.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," Spock's guard growled, but didn't actually do anything to make him.

Kirk waited until they were in an empty section of hall (luck or too easy that the place seemed half deserted?) before he continued. "Change of plans." Because in case that _was_ Spock, he didn't want the man injured.

He dropped, throwing himself backward into the guard's legs. A shot went off wildly, missing everyone in the hall.

Kirk didn't take the time to figure out what the confused yells and scuffle sounds in front of him meant -- whether Spock was winning or losing, or had even figured it out. Kirk had toppled his guard and was scrambling for the weapon, wondering if he'd even have a clue how to use it.

A fist slammed into his side, just under his ribcage, and Kirk discovered something else about himself: he knew how to take a punch.

He shot his knee up, felt it crunch into the guard's temple, and slapped a hand down on the gun.

Definitely didn't know how to use it.

He whipped it around and smashed it into the guard's face. It didn't do nearly as much damage as he'd hoped it would. A meaty hand closed in his shirt, yanking him closer. He punched, hammering his fist into a humanoid nose with more speed than he'd known he possessed. The guard punched back, knuckles like steel.

Pain flared. Kirk's vision blacked out, eyes watering furiously. The grip on him tightened. He struggled but knew it wouldn't do much good. Not while he couldn't fucking _see_.

And then the guard grunted, grip loosening off. The dull crack of flesh hitting flesh echoed, and then his grip fell away entirely.

Kirk blinked, scrambling to get up to his feet, kicking loose of the now-lax body. Spock was looking at him, but he was little more than a blur through Kirk's watering eyes.

"Thanks," Kirk croaked.

"What were you _thinking_? We're never going to get out of here ourselves! There's guards all over! We were supposed to wait until after we got _outside_!"

Kirk closed his eyes tight, trying to clear his vision. When he opened his eyes again, he could at least see for a moment. Spock looked pissed. "I figured if we waited until we got outside, they'd be prepared for us to make a break for it." Close enough to the truth.

"You're an idiot. Here, help me get these bodies hidden. One of these rooms has to be empty..."

Kirk listened at the door to one, then cautiously opened it and peered inside. Vacant. "Here."

Together, they dragged the two guard bodies inside -- it looked like storage of some sort -- and dropped them. Kirk began pulling off his shirt.

Spock stared. "What are you doing?"

"Disguise. Come on, they're not going to let us out of here in pajamas. You change, too. Hurry up." He skinned out of his pants, then began to haul the clothing off the larger of the two guards, leaving the smaller of the two for Spock, who was significantly thinner. Beanpole came to mind.

Spock hesitated, then finally began to strip as well. "This is a stupid plan."

"So was the other one."

"Yeah, well. Look, as long as we find a way to contact the Enterprise, it doesn't matter. If one of us gets out, we'll do it. Don't wait around for the other of us. Just go. Get them down here."

Kirk gave Spock a wary look, camouflaging it as he buttoned up the threadbare uniform shirt. "Yeah. We'll do that."

**

Distantly, he was aware that he was screaming. The images, memories, _feelings_ that battered around inside his head seemed far more real than any cry he might be making.

A fleshy cheek pressed against his. He recoiled. Couldn't recoil far enough. It followed, hands cradling the back of his skull. He couldn't think, couldn't string together two coherent sentences--

\-- _his mother had taken away his toys and he hated her he **hated her**_ \--

\--he didn't he didn't he didn't--

\-- _his mother was dead now_ \--

\--she'd fallen he'd killed her--

\-- _killed her with a serrated knife_ \--

Fingers threaded through his own, more memories, more images, more feelings easing under the brutal anger and overwhelming blood lust, sadness and grief and resentment coiling sickly in his stomach.

And then it was gone.

His head fell forward, shielding his face. A dull, throbbing pain hummed along his arms. He'd killed her. He'd killed her and he grieved and it was sick, Vulcans didn't grieve he was less, half human, he _had_ emotions and he couldn't--

He couldn't--

He couldn't let himself fall apart. The room was silent. His breath echoed as he struggled to steady it.

He'd killed her. He'd killed her and he couldn't mourn. He struggled to be perfect but he was flawed, deep down in his very genes where no amount of logic could ever erase it--

His breath rattled around the room again. He dragged it under control.

He was going to _kill_ them. Heat slid under his flesh, rousing and addictive.

He shuddered, forcing it back. It was not logical. He had control of his emotions. He had control of his emotions. He was _better_ than this.

Frustration snarled through him. More emotion and ever more. He licked dry lips with a dry tongue, grasping at memories. At mental rituals. At patterns and science.

Her voice was soft. "Do you want to talk to us?"

"Go to--" He stopped, cut himself off before he could finish the response he'd heard others say. That was not logical. Wherever he wanted her to go, she would not. His fingers curled and uncurled on the arm of the chair. His skin prickled with the urge to snarl and scream at her.

He was in control of his emotions. "No." But when the sadist drew near again, Spock felt himself draw away. His throat closed. He was rational. He was Vulcan.

He wanted to kill them.

**

Kirk raced down the corridors, glad they were empty. Beside him, Spock was weirdly conspicuous. Spock kept glancing around, looking guilty. Kirk kept his shoulders back as if he belonged, striding as quickly as he could in shoes not made for human feet. He felt like he was walking on pebbles.

They went up a flight of stairs, to another corridor that looked exactly the same. Spock drew ahead, seeming more alert. "I think I recognize this from when we came in," he murmured. "This way."

The doors they were passing now had windows, tiny little things that exposed the inner workings of -- was this an evil lair? Probably. Mostly, the rooms looked like offices. Paperwork, blank screens, a wall lined with cabinets. After a year of dealing with everything space could throw at him, you'd think he'd be used to the bad guys' lair looking just like everywhere else, but--

Kirk froze. A year. A year of space. He remembered that -- actually remembered that he'd been in space for a year, and he'd remembered it on his own--

He reached for more--

\--a hard carapace against the back of his throat, legs skittering over his tongue, choking as it forced past his gag reflex--

"Jim!"

He shied away from the hand on his shoulder, flinching into one of the doors. "I'm fine," he mumbled as the memories faded. "Fine."

"Are you sure? Do you remember?"

The hand had followed him. It was tight on his shoulder, almost painful. He pulled away again, rolling so his back was to the door. "No." His heart slowed, his breathing returning to normal. He resisted the urge to cough and clear his throat. "Just give me a minute. I'm fine."

Spock's gaze flickered up, to the window of the room beyond. He glanced back at Kirk and nodded once, then stepped away to give Kirk space.

Kirk pushed himself to a standing position, glancing in the window the way Spock had a moment before. The room beyond was filled with small screens, but was empty of people. He tried the handle and found it unlocked, then quickly ducked inside.

Better to be inside somewhere than loitering in the hall. He melted into the single chair, his muscles still shaking, as Spock came bursting in after him.

"We have to go! What are you doing?" Spock hissed.

"I said I need a minute. Just keep a look out." He put his head between his knees.

For several moments he just breathed, letting the memories go despite wanting them back. Even if they were awful, he wanted them back. Slowly, he sat up. Spock was by the little window, attention split between Kirk and the hall.

Kirk glanced around, and realized suddenly that the screens were security cameras, showing corridors and rooms. He swiveled to face them, eyes whisking over them, trying to figure out the layout of the place. If they could see where they needed to go, and what halls were empty --

On one screen a cluster of people stood around a seated man. One of them moved, stepping away with a small smile, giving Kirk a brief view of their captive. A face rendered in black and white, mouth open in a silent scream.

Kirk pulled the weapon he couldn't use, twisting and aiming it in the same motion.

Spock stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"If you're Spock," he said quietly, "why are they hurting _him_?"

Eyes jumped to the screen and back. "He screwed up. You didn't trust him like they wanted."

"Bullshit. You and I are gonna go for a little walk, and you'd better start thinking about how to get them out of there so I can get Spock, or you're going to have another hole in that alien head of yours." This plan sucked even more than the last one, starting with it being too easy for "Spock" to call for help, and ending with the fact that Kirk didn't have a clue as to how to fire his gun.

He'd always been good at bluffing. Or at least, since he couldn't remember anything, he told himself that and hoped it was true.

"Spock's" mouth became a thin line, and he nodded once.

**

When the hands left, the emotion didn't. He yanked against the arm restraints, the pain of bleeding skin only fueling his anger.

 _This_ was emotion. _This_ was what Jim was plagued with all the time. This wasn't anything Spock wanted.

He was going to kill them for unleashing it.

"Help us get the ambassa--"

He lunged forward as if he could rip her nose off with his teeth--

No. _No_. Vulcan, he was Vulcan and he would act like it--

Something slammed into his face, whipping his head around. Fire blossomed across his skin and fed the rage. He would _kill_ \--

He was _Vulcan_. Logic and order and he felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

"Tell the amba--"

"I will _not_!"

They hit him again. He didn't care.

**

Kirk was in luck once more. He liked to tell himself he was generally a lucky guy. No one stopped them in the halls, and "Spock" didn't seem to have the gumption to fight back. When they found the room where pointy-eared Spock was being held, it had a door with one of those small windows. Kirk glanced in and then ducked low. More luck: he didn't think they'd seen him.

The room they were holding pointy-eared Spock in was large, seemingly used as much as a warehouse as for torture. A steel slab was in the corner, with a metal tray beside--

\--slammed down onto the table, and she smiled as she asked him, "Are you sure you don't want to"--

Kirk wrenched his mind around. He didn't have _time_ for that. A heavy metal chair was bolted to the middle of the floor, where there was no real cover. All the cover was on the edges of the room -- crates and boxes piled up haphazardly where they were out of the way. He had the distinct impression this had been more storage, before it was prisoner interrogation.

There were two doors into the room, one on either end. He waved his gun around as if he knew how to use it, motioning for "Spock" to go in. "I suggest you get them to leave out through the other door." The threat went unsaid. A flat stare seemingly cowed the wrong Spock enough.

Kirk's heartbeat thumped in his throat as he watched Spock -- who had continued to protest his innocence -- enter the room where the pointy-eared Spock was being held captive.

The people didn't sound pleased to see the new addition. Kirk waited outside, ducked below the window, ears straining to hear what was being said.

People were yelling. He'd told Spock he'd wait until everyone had left before entering, but he didn't actually have any such plans. Too much time, there. Too much leeway for them to figure out what was really going wrong.

He shoved through the door, keeping low, aware that the cluster of people had moved away from the single chair. Good. He raced to the now-unguarded Vulcan, trying to outrun their surprise.

They started to shout as he skid to his knees in front of Spock.

"Hang on," Kirk muttered, grabbing for the first wrist buckle. He got it loose before a projectile slammed into the floor beside him. Kirk used Spock for cover, hoping they still wanted this prisoner alive. He couldn't fire back. He didn't know _how_. He could, however, finish unbuckling the damn restraint and start on Spock's ankles, while Spock got the other wrist.

From his peripheral vision he could see that they were coming around, cutting off his exits. In another minute it wouldn't matter if he had a weapon and Spock was free; they wouldn't be able to escape, anyway.

As the last of the straps fell off Spock's ankles, Spock stood, snatching up the chair -- the only cover they had.

"Spock!" Kirk protested, ducking his head as more projectiles -- were those _bullets_? Who used bullets anymore? -- exploded nearby.

And then Spock bellowed.

Kirk shoved himself away, scrambling for cover -- it was clear across the God-damned room! -- belief that he was doing the right thing suddenly shaken. Spock didn't bellow. Spock never even raised his voice. And yet this Spock was throwing the chair at the nearest attacker while already springing in another direction, after a man with beefy hands and a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

Kirk leaped for the man who'd had to dodge the chair, tackling his legs and bringing him down. A solid punch dazed him, another cracked his head into the floor, and before Kirk could deliver a third a hand had tangled in Kirk's shirt and hauled him off. He came up swinging, pulling his punches when he realized it was Spock.

It wasn't Spock. It was a Vulcan with nearly black eyes and blood lining his lips with green, and he tossed Kirk aside like it was the easiest thing in the world. Kirk smashed into a man holding a machine, a man who'd tucked himself in the corner.

Shoving possible Spock-problems aside, Kirk grabbed his weapon and jammed it up into the humanoid's throat.

"Don't shoot me! I won't fight you!" the man nearly squealed.

Kirk whipped around, using his hostage as a shield, and regarded the room.

There was still someone shooting from a corner, though his hiding place meant he couldn't get a good line on Spock. Spock was kneeling over a newly dead body, pivoting to trace the line of fire. The look on his face sent chills down Kirk's spine. Two more bodies lay across the room, and the far door was open and swinging gently. There was no sign of not-Spock.

"Spock!"

Spock rose and launched himself toward the shooter, as if he hadn't heard Jim call.

" _Spock_!"

A bullet brought Spock to one knee. Then he was up again, bleeding freely and still running.

"Spock, damn it, have you lost your _mind_?" Kirk's grip tightened on his hostage, his knuckles going white around the gun. He had lost his mind. Or he wasn't Spock, either.

Spock vaulted on top of the steel slab--

\--forced downward onto a metal table, hands at his wrists, his shoulders, someone grabbing his leg while he kicked--

Not now not now he didn't have the time. His grip tightened on his hostage, but he felt the ground tip anyway--

\--slamming his head down and for a long moment seeing nothing but black--

The world twisted and lurched and rose up to meet up. His vision grayed and remained dim. He struggled to cling to consciousness, vaguely aware of hands on him, hauling him up and over a strong shoulder. His head fell against someone's back and nearly jostled his mind loose--

\--pain slamming through his skull and when he finally was able to swim to awareness they'd already strapped his arms down--

No matter how hard he fought, he couldn't bring mobility back any faster.

The harder he fought, the more unconsciousness loomed. And then he started to seize.

******

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J


	5. The Sum of its Parts 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17, but that's a long way in coming.  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: Novella

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress. I have 90-odd pages done and edited, and probably another 30 to write (*edit: Note how the 'what is done' number gets longer, and yet the 'left to write' number doesn't shrink... *amused*). I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

[Chapter One](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html)   
[Chapter Two](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/502047.html)   
[Chapter Three](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/507237.html)   
[Chapter Four](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/513432.html)

  
Chapter Five

It had been all too easy to escape the building -- especially considering he was wounded.

Blood slid down Spock's leg as he whipped out the doors and down the cliff side. Rocks and dirt cascaded from under his feet. One arm tried to steady himself, still clinging to the alien weapon, the other holding Jim as the compact body convulsed.

They were being chased. He didn't have time to check that Jim was all right.

Rage snarled through him. He could go back. If he dropped Jim, he could go back up there and _stop_ their pursuers -- wrap his fingers around their throats and--

It wasn't logical. His grip tightened on Jim's shirt. He jumped away from the rock face. For a moment they were in freefall. Then the earth struck again, slamming into Spock's heels. Agony lanced upward, and one leg nearly gave out. He dug in. They skidded. Dirt pelleted out from under him, sliding down beside him, a tiny avalanche.

Shots fired, and missed.

There was a ledge coming up. Spock swung Jim forward, trying to protect the fragile human skull, and jumped as they reached the edge. A canyon opened up around them, and for a moment terror reached into Spock's chest and clutched at his heart. It clouded his mind, blurred his calculations, and he couldn't plan where they were going to land, couldn't take into account his injury--

They hit the ground. Pain slammed up into his bones, his joints. Pain that could have been avoided if he wasn't _feeling_ things. If he was _thinking_. He fell to one knee, warm blood soaking into his pants.

Jim was still convulsing. Spock clutched him, staring, as if looking at him could make him stop seizing. It couldn't. Spock shoved the sick worry back. They'd done this. They'd done this to both of them--

He shoved the anger back.

He could return. The lives of three men were on his hands, but the woman and one of the people _touching him_ had escaped. He would _find them_ \--

Spock lurched down the cliff face, forcing himself to move. It wasn't logical to return.

He needed to stop. Check on Jim. Do -- something.

There was nothing to be done if Jim was seizing. It was more logical to keep moving, put space between them and their pursuers.

He shook with the desire to cause them the same sort of pain they'd caused him. His leg burned. He kept moving onward.

He kept moving downward.

They dropped lower into the canyon, down into rocky earth where no footprints would give them away. With every jump, every scramble into the crevasse, he was more certain they wouldn't be found. The urge to turn around and hunt their tormentors grew. A useless death. Killing himself or killing them would help nothing now. His breath came short and fast. Images of finding them, hurting them, filled his mind. Pain fed them. Every step, every drop of blood sliding down his skin, was food for his rage.

Jim went still. Spock paused, focusing. Jim. They were running because Jim was hurt. They had to get away. He tucked them both out of sight behind an outcrop, then checked that Jim was breathing, that the delicate human airways were clear. Spock's hands shook. He ignored it. His leg throbbed, threatening to give out entirely. He focused. They had to run, because Jim was helpless. Slinging Jim back into a shoulder-carry, Spock continued on.

His long fingers remained tangled in cloth, holding Jim in place. The desire to go _back_ grew once more. The aliens had barely put up a fight. Hardly tried to stop him. He'd wanted a fight. Wanted to hit them and see more blood spill. Even now, he could hear only two men following, and those slowly. His grip tightened. He needed to think clearly. To notice what was happening. To think of something other than going back and killing his enemies. He needed logic.

He wanted to hurt them for what they'd done.

He ran. He had ground to cover.

**

_"Jimmy."_

_He flinched. Anger, frustration, exasperation -- he could take all those. But that sad, disappointed tone his mother got... He couldn't look at her. He glared at the far wall, instead._

_She walked around the little room and sat in front of him. With gentle fingers she took his chin and turned his head. "Where did you get these?"_

_His response was mumbled. "Got in a fight at school."_

_Her hand dropped away. Somehow, his bruises seemed to ache worse. "You get in a lot of fights at school, your teacher says."_

_His shoulders jerked._

_"I wish..." She didn't finish the sentence. He glared at the far wall. He wished she wouldn't go away. He wished she'd take him and Sam with her. He wished she'd touch him again._

_His skin felt cold._

His skin felt cold, period. He shivered, then groaned as pain lanced through his mind. It purged the wisps of dream-memories, chasing them off into the void. He lifted his hands, pressing his fists against his empty forehead.

"Captain?"

He jerked, opening his eyes. A man kneeled in front of him, silhouetted by the faintest of lights. Kirk lay on his side on uneven rock, sheltered by --

For a moment his mind searched, gaze slipping around as he tried to put the world together. He'd been in a room, and now -- now--

Now he was outdoors. In a shallow cave, and beyond the mouth of the cave he could see... well, more rock. Not very exciting.

He _wasn't_ in a cell.

"Spock?" His voice was a croak.

"Yes."

Slowly, Jim pushed himself upward. His whole body ached. Air curled frigid tendrils around him. The kneeling man shifted backward, catching himself awkwardly with one hand as he settled away, against the cave wall.

Not the grace Spock normally had, Jim somehow knew. And then he remembered, the quick fight in the room with the steel slab, seeing Spock get shot and keep going, threatening the scientist--

"What happened? You were hurt. Are you--"

Spock drew farther away. "I'm fine. You had another seizure. I... retrieved you, and we escaped. Too easily. I believe they allowed us to leave."

There was something wrong with those words. The pounding in Kirk's head distracted him, kept him from focusing.

"How are you feeling?" Spock asked.

"I don't remember anything, if that's what you're asking. But..." He paused, thinking. "I don't seem to have lost anything, either." Certainly not the memories that the other Spock wasn't Spock. Or the memories of this Spock raging.

Spock didn't rage. Spock was the calmest creature to walk the earth, even calmer than comatose people, Jim thought. He looked at Spock warily.

Spock was looking at him.

Jim took a breath. "You were angry." It was almost a question. He wanted this to be the right man. He liked this man. He trusted this man. Touch-empathy could create that.

"I apologize."

It wasn't the answer he was looking for. He looked away, glancing out at the starlight dusted rocks. "Where are we?"

"The structure was built on a canyon. We're at the bottom, approximately four kilometers from where we started. When you're feeling well, we should put more distance between us and the others."

"You said you thought they let us escape?"

"I do. But I also believe they'd be willing to take us back and get what they want from us another way."

Kirk glanced over. Spock's hands were resting in his lap. His fingers kept curling into fists, then relaxing again. It made the back of Kirk's neck prickle. He looked away. "What do they want from us?"

"They wanted me to ask the ambassador to come here."

"The guy they put me with -- they told me he was Spock -- he wanted me to call the ship." There was a link. Jim had no idea what it was.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Spock's hands curl into fists again.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this wasn't Spock at all. The air breathed ghostly fingers against him, and he shivered.

He turned to look at the flexing hands. The right trouser leg had been torn off from the knee down. That thigh was wrapped with a rough bandage, one side of it nearly black in the shadows. "Is that blood?"

Spock's hands stilled. "Yes."

Kirk shifted, turning to face Spock. "Did you at least get the bits of cloth out of the wound? Christ, Spock, that's a lot of blood." He reached for the knot.

Spock shoved himself away, sliding sideways along the cave wall. "It's fine. Your concern is understandable from a human, but under the circumstances I believe this is the best that can be done."

Kirk froze and looked up. "I'm the captain, right?" There was a barely perceptible nod. "Then I can't make plans unless I know how badly my crew is hurt, and what they're capable of. Let me see." He moved forward again.

Spock backpedaled, crouching in the low confines of the cave. "I can assess the damage to my own body better than anyone but a trained physician. If you suggest plans, I will tell you if I am capable."

Kirk kept moving forward, following Spock outside. There was no breeze, just the frozen view of stars far above. Spock was favoring his wounded leg. "Let me see."

It wasn't that Spock wouldn't let him see, he realized as he followed the Vulcan across the rocky ground. It was that Spock didn't want him to. Which made him feel like a sadist -- and yet, he knew that something in that statement was the key to solving a riddle. He just wasn't sure what the riddle was.

"It's fine. It's been bandaged."

"It's not fine. You're limping."

"That is a natural reaction to an injury. The body attempting to keep further damage from--"

Kirk reached for Spock, catching at his shirt. The response was immediate.

"Do not _touch me_." Spock grabbed Kirk's forearm, squeezing so hard Jim thought the bones were grinding together. He yelled, dropping to one knee as Spock applied pressure. That was anger, and this was _not_ Spock.

The hand let go. There was a beat of silence. Then, "I didn't--"

Kirk twisted and bolted back for the cave, diving to the floor and coming up with the alien weapon. He still didn't know how to shoot the damn thing, but he rolled to face the impostor and pointed it anyway.

Spock followed, but he halted when Kirk aimed at him. He looked very pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark smudges against his skin, the bandage around his leg glistening wetly. "Captain--"

"Don't start." Kirk licked his chapped lips, climbing back to his feet while keeping the gun trained. "Who are you really?"

"Commander Spock of the USS--"

"Bullshit! Spock doesn't bruise me when he gets annoyed. Hell, Spock doesn't get annoyed! _Who are you really_?"

"Sir. I apologize. I was... emotionally compromised." He kept his hands by his sides, perfectly still.

Kirk shifted his grip. "Emotionally compromised? Because I touched your shirt?" The phrase tickled at the back of his mind. Important, somehow.

Spock wouldn't look at him. That was disturbing. "I believed you would touch my leg next."

"Yeah, I would have. To check the damn wound!" The last word echoed back. Kirk winced. If they had someone on their trail, that someone had a big hint where to find them now.

"I do not believe it wise for you to touch me just now." Spock's voice was a quiet murmur.

Kirk couldn't stop the laugh that burst forth. It was too high, almost hysterical. This was Spock. This wasn't Spock. He couldn't _remember_. Maybe there was no Spock at all. "You'd better start explaining. _Real_ fast."

Silence stretched. Then Spock inclined his head slightly. "I believe someone is coming."

The urge to move was immense. Instead, Kirk stood silently and listened. "I don't hear anything." And yet every bone in his body was screaming at him to believe Spock. He kept the weapon trained.

"Vulcan hearing is superior to human hearing."

"Convenient. Start talking."

"Given your tendency to ask questions, by the time I explain everything our pursuer will be upon us and we will have no time to leave. I would recommend we begin walking."

Kirk struggled, glaring at the impassive Vulcan. "All right. Start walking. And talk. What's a touch-empath?"

Spock turned and began to stride rapidly down the canyon, no limp to his step now. He kept his hands at his sides, easily in view. Kirk walked behind him, peering at the gun.

"A touch-empath is one who feels what another feels upon touching them. But I believe your assumption is that Vulcans are touch-empaths, which is incorrect. That is why you ask?"

"Yeah." He glowered at Spock's back.

"Vulcans are telepaths, an ability that is heightened by touch, though we are trained from childhood to shield against another's thoughts. We can also, however, read emotion."

"Can you change someone's feelings and thoughts?" Kirk watched Spock climb carefully over a pile of rocks, and noted that once more he was babying his injured leg. It was nothing too obvious -- but he moved to the left, letting his good leg take more strain when it would have been easier to go to the right.

"We can passively affect emotions, and control them for a sort time with a great deal of focus."

"Explain." Kirk jammed the weapon in the holster he'd stolen off the guard with the rest of the uniform, freeing his hands to scramble over a rockfall. His joints were starting to ache with the cold. His breath ghosted out in front of him.

"If a Vulcan were to touch an upset human, the Vulcan's greater emotional control could help that human regain control themselves." He hesitated, and Kirk looked at him sharply. There was something else to be said, there. But Spock continued, and Kirk was sure this wasn't what Spock had been thinking about in that pause. "However, in order to make someone feel something they do not wish to feel, we must focus inward. We are left physically defenseless."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" They hit flat ground and Kirk drew the weapon again, peering at it in the moonlight.

"Vulcans do not lie."

Kirk snorted. "Right. Tell me about touch-telepathy. Can you change--"

\--dry fingers on his skin, framing his eye and mouth, and memories hit, memories that weren't his, memories that were recent and never had -- never would -- happen. Too late to save a world, chased, thrown back through space and time, captured, stranded on an ice planet, watching his whole world implode--

Rock bit into his knees as he gasped for air, shuddering with cold and pain. He gagged but managed not to vomit. Agony slid behind his eyes. He closed them, scratching the ground as he waited for it to pass. It would pass. It had to pass.

Slowly, it eased off. He took a shaking breath and opened his eyes. Blood dripped on the rock between his hands. He spat, tasting copper, and more made spatter designs. He'd bitten through his lip, trying not to scream.

"Jim." The single word was hushed.

He looked up slowly. Spock crouched a few feet away, hands out as if prepared to grab him but unwilling to do so unless it was necessary. It would have been the perfect time to attack, and yet Spock hadn't. In fact, Spock looked worried. It was disturbing.

Kirk stared hard at Spock, something clicking into place in his head. This was Spock. This had to be Spock. And yet... something was frighteningly wrong. "I remember," he said slowly, "a hand on my face." He grabbed for the memory, afraid it would vanish.

A bevy of expressions fled across Spock's face. Spock looked up, over Jim's shoulder, staring hard down the canyon. That, Kirk realized, was rage. It froze something in his stomach to see it on Spock's face. "Not them," he clarified quickly. "It was --" Memory flickered. He frowned. "You."

Spock looked at him again.

"Only you were old." His eyes narrowed. "Is Spock a common name among Vulcans?"

"It is not uncommon," Spock said. "But I believe that you are speaking of Ambassador Spock. A version of me, from the future."

Kirk stared at him. "Uh huh." And yet, it didn't _feel_ implausible. No more than this Spock felt like an impostor. "You -- he -- put images in my head? That's touch-telepathy?"

Confusion reigned on Spock's face, and then suddenly all expression was gone. "We should continue walking." Spock stood and began to stride away once more, movement hampered by his injury.

It hadn't been hampered before. He could be faking a limp. He could be upset and not thinking. He was certainly omitting key factors -- and Kirk didn't want to _shoot_ him. But Kirk needed answers, and Spock was hiding them.

Eyes narrowed with frustration, Kirk grabbed up his gun and started after. He caught up in three easy steps, then reached out and grabbed Spock's wrist.

Spock spun, trying to yank away. Kirk was dragged off his feet, slammed into a hard chest. They fell in a tangle of limbs, but he managed not to let go.

"Stop it, _damn you_ ," Spock snarled, and finally wrenched himself free by smashing a hand on Kirk's throat, shoving him backward.

Jim coughed and gagged, trying to draw breath. Spock scrambled away, shoving himself up against a spill of rocks. He looked pale, shaken, dark eyes wide. Flecks of dried blood rimmed his fingernails, more smears here and there looking black in the moonlight.

"What is your problem?" Jim snarled. "Tell me what's going on with you!" Because this was Spock, he was certain of it, and he was certain there was something profoundly wrong -- he just didn't know how he knew.

Spock opened his mouth. His throat worked. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and said in a voice just shy of steady, "I apologize for my outburst. I did not--"

"The truth, Spock!" Kirk reached for him, expecting to be struck again. Spock kicked once and scrambled away, leg nearly giving out.

The words poured forth. "I am a touch-telepath. Vulcans control our emotions through logic, but _they_ didn't, and _you_ don't. They touched me and I -- I need space to -- to redevelop my shields--"

Kirk watched this man he did and didn't know, feeling a little queasy. "You're telling me that..." But what Spock was saying didn't need to be re-stated. Kirk wasn't sure he understood it all, but he got the gist of it. "At some point, I'm going to check your leg."

Tight-lipped, Spock nodded. "Understood. I just need some time to control it. Without being _touched_."

Kirk studied Spock. It was like watching a play, seeing the curtain fall over Spock's face. He could see the defenses come together, and now aware of all the chinks in Spock's armor, he could see the holes. The emotion that shouldn't have been there. That was what was wrong. "We're gonna talk about this. Later," he said quietly.

One of Spock's eyebrows twitched. "If we leave, then perhaps that later will not be as captives."

Kirk snorted and pushed to his feet. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Do you know how to fire this thing?" He waved the gun around.

"I do. And as you do not, perhaps it should remain in my care."

He'd known? And remained at a distance, anyway. Kirk hesitated, then tucked the gun back in his stolen holster. "I don't think so. You could still be manipulating my emotions."

One pointed eyebrow lifted fractionally. It made Kirk feel better, as long as he ignored the way Spock's hands still trembled.

"You _could_. You might be the impostor, here." Kirk didn't think so. But if this was a touch-empath... but if he was one of theirs, surely they wouldn't have been torturing him. It all made Kirk's head hurt. Kirk would keep his one advantage, at least for the time being.

**


	6. The Sum of its Parts 6/10-ish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress, though it's now nearly done. I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

Since I'll be at a wedding tomorrow, you get a long chapter a day early. Woo!

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: Eventual R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: Novella

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). Just so you know, this is one of those most dreaded Works In Progress, though it's now nearly done. I'll be releasing one chapter a week until I've finished the story, and then I'll bump it up to one chapter every few days.

[Chapter One](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/498890.html)   
[Chapter Two](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/502047.html)   
[Chapter Three](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/507237.html)   
[Chapter Four](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/513432.html)   
[Chapter Five](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/515006.html)

  
Chapter Six

The third time he stumbled in as many minutes, Kirk called his name.

Spock came to a halt, burying the flash of anxiety. Kirk, whatever his lack of memories, was a friend. There was no reason to worry about his touch. They'd touched before. Rarely, true, but they had. His shields had always held, and there was no desire in Jim to cause harm.

While Jim caught up, Spock looked at the face of the canyon, hoping for a path to the top. None presented itself. Jim stopped nearby, sweating lightly even in the cold night air. Which presented another problem: they'd seemingly lost their pursuers, but Jim had broken a sweat doing so. With no shelter, there was a slight chance of his perspiration lowering his body temperature beyond safety limits.

"You're limping."

Spock didn't look over. "I _am_ injured." Pain was a mental thing, but it was also the body's way of protecting itself from further harm. There was no shame in limping if it saved his leg so he might run, later.

"Think they're still behind us?"

Spock turned and looked back the way they'd come, listening before he gave his answer. "I have not heard them for three kilometers, now. I believe we've lost them, at least for the time being."

"Good." Kirk collapsed onto a boulder, wincing and pulling his boots off. "Have a seat. I want to take a look at your leg."

Spock hesitated, weighing options, then finally said, "I believe we should keep moving. There is only one way for us to go in this canyon, and they may call for reinforcements. The walls, however, have been getting gradually lower, and--"

"And we can sit for ten minutes while I look at your leg."

Spock regarded the boulder Kirk had pointed to. Exercise had left his injury nearly numb with pain, and a lead weight sat in the pit of his stomach. As he had eaten nothing to cause intestinal distress, he had to assume the two were related. "Captain--"

"Sit. Down." Kirk pulled out the gun, leaning against his knees with the muzzle pointed lazily in Spock's direction.

Spock's mouth tightened against his will. "There is no point in drawing your weapon. I was simply going to mention that there is little you can do for my injury, but if we get to the top we might be able to find a hospital."

Kirk kept staring at him, gold eyebrows slightly raised.

Spock gingerly moved to the rock Kirk had gestured at and sat, trying not to favor his injured leg.

Kirk put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward, nimble fingers reaching for the knot in the make-shift bandage.

"Captain--" Spock heard himself blurt before Kirk could touch him.

Kirk stopped and looked up, eyebrows raised.

"I cannot be certain that my shields will remain in place--"

Kirk cut across his words, eyebrows drawing in over the bridge of his nose. "You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?"

Spock straightened, drawing his shoulders back. "I do not 'freak out,' as you put it."

"I saw you in that room back there," Kirk challenged. "I'd say that was freaked out."

"Perhaps I lost control for a moment--"

"And you hit me, when I grabbed your wrist."

"If you had _let go_ \--" Spock stopped, hearing the emotion in his own words. He was half Vulcan. He would _not_ be subject to whims of emotion. Kirk watched him silently, and somehow that was worse than all the recriminations he could think of. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm down. It was a matter of logic. Much as he hated to admit it, they'd hurt him. Hurt caused fear in lower animals, and there was no denying that Vulcans had evolved from lesser creatures just like everything else. A fear reaction was natural, and meant only that he needed to apply higher thinking. Logically, he knew that Jim wasn't going to hurt him. Not on purpose, and not any more than was simply physically uncomfortable, and possibly somewhat mentally straining -- only because he had already been weakened. If he thought about things coolly and rationally, it was obvious that Jim was only trying to help.

It was also completely rational to untie the bandage himself, since he'd tied it in the first place. Humans weren't as strong as Vulcans, and the knot had tightened over their hours of walking.

Kirk didn't say a word as Spock untied, and then unwrapped, his bandage. Without touching him, Jim slid down to one knee, closing the distance in the shadowy night.

"There's a lot of blood here, Spock."

Spock stared resolutely at the canyon wall. "Considering how long we've been walking, there isn't an unusual amount. Nothing to be concerned over, certainly."

"Which is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, because you got _shot_."

"I was only grazed." He tensed as gentle fingers tugged at his pants leg, pulling it first one way and then the other, opening the tear just a bit farther, presumably to see the injury beneath. He kept his eyes riveted on the canyon wall, picking out patterns in the stone. There, that hole could be used as a handhold, and there was another close enough to reach...

"Spock! Your feet!"

"We have been walking over rough terrain, and I have no shoes."

"Why didn't you say something?"

There was a ledge, if they could just get to it... "I weighed the importance of foot coverings versus bodily coverings, considered the coolness of the night and balanced that with my own ability to continue walking, and judged that it was more important to have clothes than--"

"Than making sure you don't go _crippled_? You're the most stubborn man I've ever met."

A flurry of motion caught his gaze, and he watched as Kirk shimmied out of the guard's shirt. Muscles tightened and relaxed under golden skin, and goosebumps rose quickly. "Very likely," he agreed.

Kirk froze and peered at him. "Was that a joke?"

"I do not joke."

For a moment, it looked as though Kirk was going to argue. Then he just yanked his shirt off the rest of the way, grasping it in both hands and preparing to tear it into strips.

Having less clothing was exactly what Spock had been trying to avoid. "Jim, we have no idea of where we might find shelter. Ruining what clothing we have--"

Jim looked straight at him and tore. "Think about this logically," he said in a curiously elongated way. "If you can't walk, we can't escape. If you walk leaving bloody footprints, it doesn't matter if we escape, they'll find us. And if you tell me to go on and let you play decoy or some idiot thing like that, I'll have to refuse, and we'll end up arguing. So just keep quiet and--" He reached for Spock's feet.

Spock couldn't quite stop from drawing away. Jim paused, then slowly, his mouth a tight slash against his face, handed Spock the strips of cloth. "Bind your feet. Then we'll figure out what to do next."

Wordlessly, eshewing an argument since Jim had already done the damage, Spock wrapped his feet and re-wrapped his thigh. Jim losing his memories hadn't seemed to affect his inability to reason. Hopefully it hadn't affected his ability to get out of problematic situations, either.

"Okay," Jim said the moment Spock had finished. "I suppose you're going to tell me we should keep walking."

"Actually, Captain, I think I may have found a way out. How are you at climbing?"

Jim looked at him, eyebrows raised.

Spock pointed a single finger at the nearly sheer rock wall.

Jim laughed. It didn't seem to be humorous, but Spock couldn't be sure.

**

Kirk was pretty positive he'd left more skin on the canyon walls than he was currently sporting. The worst part was that when the wind blew -- there'd barely been a breeze in the canyon, but up here the wind was alive and well -- it made him cold _and_ it stung all his lack of flesh.

He was mostly trying not to think about the fact that he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, even though he'd stuffed them beneath his armpits as he walked. He was _really_ trying not to notice how Spock kept stumbling, or how Spock's teeth were clenched to keep from chattering, or the way Spock looked sickly pale in the dawn light.

They were taking turns watching for any sign of habitation. Mostly, it was a lot more rock with occasional scrub brush. Kirk kept his head up while Spock tucked his chin, protecting his face from the cold wind and watching where he put his feet. At least Kirk had boots, even if they were rubbing blisters on his blisters.

"Hey. Spock." The words were bitten off between cold breaths.

"Yes?" Even freezing, he wasn't less than proper. With the bare bones of an amused smile, Kirk looked at him sidelong. His usual grace had been forfeited hours before, his lean, athletic frame hunching in on himself.

Kirk forged on. "If they wanted you to call the ambassador, and me to call the Enterprise, what do you think they were gonna do?" Talking was better than thinking, even if it robbed him further of breath. He paused, trying to find a way through the next batch of rocks that didn't involve scrambling, and finally found a weaving path between two clusters of boulders with only one short climb. He waited on the other side, watching to be sure that Spock made it.

Spock was quiet as he navigated over the stone. He seemed to be moving slower, and his hands shook. Kirk could only hope that the rising sun would bring heat -- and not too much of it. Escape, only to die of exposure. Now that would be ironic.

By the time Spock answered, Kirk had almost forgotten his question. "I do not believe there are enough facts to determine what they might have wanted."

"So theorize. I mean, you're a science officer. That's what scientists do, right? Theor--" His head snapped up, a smile splitting his face. Fresh blood spilled from his lip, and he didn't even care. "Spock! You're a science officer! I remember that!"

Spock looked up briefly, and in his dark eyes there was almost a look of relief. His lips were tinged slightly green. "Do you remember anything else?"

Kirk thought, wracking his mind then trying to clear it, probing at the darkness. "No. Just that." Damn it. Another voice echoed in his mind, another man muttering, "Damn it, Jim..." But it was gone again, and he couldn't even say if it was a friend or an enemy.

They walked on in silence. Kirk's eyes watered against the cold, the corners slowly going raw. His nose ran, the skin becoming red and inflamed. Spock didn't seem to be sniffing. Kirk was jealous.

"Perhaps," Spock said after a long while, "since the rebel faction that had us does not want to align with the Federation, and is in fact opposing the main country currently in power, they were trying to arrange for an international incident."

"Oh?" Kirk checked that Spock had taken over watching their path, then tucked his face down to protect it.

"They were able to take information from you about the Enterprise and the Federation, perhaps enough to know that the ambassador is a man of great importance. Certainly enough to know that he would not rendezvous for a written letter, but would expect one of us to call him visually. In addition, the Enterprise has voice recognition scanners. It is possible that they needed us, and that is why we are still alive." Spock's voice seemed brittle, thin. His breathing came in quick little bursts when he spoke, as if he forgot to take deeper inhalations of the cold air.

"Huh." Kirk curled his hands into fists under his arms, trying to keep from shivering. "So they make you call the ambassador and me call the Enterprise... how would that create an international incident?"

"Perhaps if they killed him."

Kirk nodded wryly. "That would be an incident, yeah. But they could kill him now. Bomb the city..." He trailed off, staring at the ground as it passed. Dirt, rocks, nasty little plants. He licked the sluggishly moving blood off his lip. "But then they'd be blamed. It's not really an international incident. They'd just have the Federation after them too, then."

"Hmm."

"So..." Kirk frowned. "What planet are we on, again?"

"The planet Casari."

"Right. So the main Casarians would need to either think the Enterprise killed the ambassador, and therefore want to split with them, or the Enterprise would need to think the Casarians killed the ambassador and not let them in. And you and I were, what? Pawns? That's annoying."

"A game of chess is often won or lost depending on what one does with one's pawns."

"Pawns are expendable," Kirk muttered. "I'm not."

"Everyone is expendable, under the right circumstances."

"There you go, being defeatist again."

"Simply realistic."

It was easy to fall into this sort of banter. Idly, Kirk wondered how often they'd done it before. No memory rose to give him an easy answer.

"Jim."

He stopped behind Spock and looked up. His heart leaped. There was a _house_. Old, half falling apart, the windows boarded up, but it was there. "Isn't it weird that most aliens seem pretty much human?" he asked, starting forward with renewed energy.

"I believe you mean they seem 'pretty much' Vulcan."

Kirk looked sharply over, his grin returning. "Spock, was that a joke?"

"I do not joke." But Kirk was _sure_ he saw a glimmer in those large, coal colored eyes.

"Come on, pointy ears. Race you there." As he started off, he thought he heard Spock say, "And I do not race," but he couldn't be sure. Either way, he got to the house long before Spock did, and had even found a way in through a loose board over a broken window by the time Spock caught up.

Kirk wriggled between the wooden slats, cursing as he fell forward and had to catch himself ignobly with his hands, his legs still half hooked in the wood. He yanked his feet free, losing a boot in the process, then sat and pulled the other off. His blisters thanked him.

"Hang on," he yelled, suddenly hot in the absence of the wind. "I'll get the door open." Not that Spock couldn't climb through, too, but Kirk figured it was better not to use that injured leg, if at all possible.

The house was small. It didn't take much time to locate the door through the dust and cobwebs, though it took a little more time to pry it open. It had been nailed closed. By the time Spock came stumbling inside, the sun was fully up, and it wasn't much warmer than it had been before.

"Sit," Kirk said, gesturing to the floor -- there wasn't much else. "I'm gonna see if I can't start a fire..." It was almost alarming that Spock sat without an argument, curling up into a corner as if the shelter would keep body heat in. He had his shirt, still, but one pant leg had gone to make bandages, and his feet were bare. The pajama-like outfit they'd put him in was made of thin material; at least Kirk had something a little bit warmer, even if he'd sacrificed his shirt.

Kirk went through the house, looking for anything flammable. He found some furniture in the back room, along with a mattress so infested with bugs he wouldn't dare try sleeping on it. It could happily, however, be burned.

There were tins of food in a small basement, along with bottles of some form of liquid. On earth he'd have said wine, but here -- it was anyone's guess. There was other food, too, but most of that had rotted away -- he had a sneezing fit when he nudged a bag of mystery food with his foot, and spores rose off it. He found blankets, and metal instruments that were clearly supposed to be knives.

Eventually, Kirk dragged his loot to where Spock was huddled up, dropping it all down. "There's a mattress back there, too, but it's disgusting. I thought we could burn it."

"No fire," Spock said on a shuddering breath.

"What?"

"They'll see the smoke."

Kirk looked back toward the bedroom, dismayed. But Spock was right, and he'd been a fool to think otherwise. Glumly, he pulled the heaviest blanket free and tossed it over Spock, then sat down to try and open one of the bottles of liquid. "Any brilliant ideas on how we're going to summon the ship?" he asked, glowering when the bottle remained stubbornly sealed.

"I suggest we get to the nearest city, once we've provisioned ourselves."

Kirk grunted. Losing patience, he stood up and stepped away, smashing the neck of the bottle against the wall. It shattered, littering the floor with broken glass, though most of the -- he sniffed -- alcohol remained inside.

They both eyed the glass mess. "Maybe not my most inspired moment," Kirk mumbled, and knelt in front of Spock again. "Drink?"

"Out of a glass bottle with sharp edges?" He was nearly hidden under the folds of the blanket, now wrapped tightly around him. When Kirk looked, Spock's shivering was painfully obvious.

"Okay, point." He set the bottle down and headed back toward what had clearly been the kitchen, in search of something to hold the liquor. Finally, armed with a bowl, he came back into the room.

It had seemed warm just a few moments before, newly sheltered from the wind, but now the cold was creeping back on him. His fingers felt thick, and his toes hurt. "Here's the plan," he said, pouring alcohol into the bowl and pressing it toward Spock. "I'm gonna check your leg and your feet -- don't argue -- and then we're going to curl up under that blanket and sleep. Any disagreements?"

For a beat, Spock hesitated. Then he sipped from the bowl, long-fingered hands just peeking out from under the edge of the blanket, and said, "None, Captain."

Jim sat, tugging another blanket around his shoulders before grabbing the third, a moth-eaten thin one with large holes in the middle. Methodically, he picked up the knife and began to tear the blanket into long strips, soaking them down with the alcohol. "You think there are bacteria on this planet that could cause infection in us?"

"It does seem likely, given past precedent."

"Then we'll just hope alcohol still sterilizes." Kirk glanced sidelong. Slowly growing daylight was filtering in through the boards, as well as a large hole in the ceiling. It left Spock in plain view. He was pale, moreso than usual, and drawn. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks looked gaunt. His hair, normally so tidy, was greasy and mussed. A red smear of blood adorned his chin, as well as clinging under his nails.

Kirk frowned. "I thought you were green-blooded." He was sure of it. Information was coming back to him, even if episodic memories were not.

Spock glanced at him. "I am."

Knife in one hand, Kirk pointed to Spock's nails.

Spock regarded them steadily. "I do not believe that is mine."

Which made Kirk remember the fight just before he'd lost awareness again. Thoughtfully, he continued to tear the blanket into strips.

When he had as many as he thought he could possibly need, he wrung the excess alcohol out of them and shifted until he sat facing Spock. "We need to bandage you. I'm gonna end up touching you. How can I help?"

Lids fell, heavy lashes sweeping down to lie against pale skin for the barest of moments. Then Spock looked at him, holding his gaze. "Remain calm. Think... quietly."

Kirk huffed a laugh and laid the first strip across his knees, while Spock shuffled around until the blanket was still over his shoulders, but Kirk could get to his legs.

Kirk started on the side that still had a full pants leg. He reached out, wrapping his hands carefully around the firm muscle of Spock's calf, drawing it out to rest the Vulcan's foot on his knee, then pushed the hem up slightly.

"This might sting."

"I had deduced as much."

Kirk gave him a bare little smile. While Kirk swabbed at the raw, abraded flesh, keeping cloth between their skin, Spock picked up another piece and cleaned red blood off. Jim's actions had to have hurt like hell, but Spock neither twitched nor made any noise. His foot wasn't as bad as Kirk had expected, either. It didn't take long to clean away the grime and assess the damage. "I doubt you'll be dancing any time soon," Kirk said finally, "but you ought to be able to walk."

"As I do not dance, walking is all that concerns me."

Kirk chuckled, picking up the next length of cloth. "What, you mean you don't head to the bars on shore leave, learn a little Centurian Two-Step, maybe some Gamma line dancing?"

"No, I do not."

"I'm kidding, Spock." Kirk gave Spock a lopsided smile, feeling it grow at the vaguely uncertain look on Spock's face -- something subtle, a movement of eyebrows, a shift of Spock's gaze. Suddenly, he wished he remembered them better. What they were like, if they were good friends. He turned his attention back to Spock's battered foot.

He couldn't keep from touching Spock any longer. Think quietly. He wrapped his hand around Spock's ankle, pinning the end of the first strip in place. Kirk thought of snow. Falling snow, landing on already white ground. Fields covered in it, drifting down from a sky almost as pale. Carefully, he wrapped the bandage around Spock's foot once. Spock's skin felt chilled to the touch, and Kirk couldn't tell if that was normal or if it was an indication of freezing or, heck, if Spock was going into shock.

He wrapped the bandage around again, fixing on that image of snow. Snow, peaceful and quiet, across the entire field. Wrapped the bandage again. Snow heavy over the bare tree in the front yard, snow that looked fluffy, snow that promised good packing snow later.

"Jim."

He looked up.

"I don't mean to pry, but I cannot guard easily against your thoughts, and you're making me cold."

Kirk laughed. "Figures. Don't worry about prying. I think normally you're pretty good at not reading minds, but everyone has a bad day. Yours has been really bad, so... I can just... think of good things until we're done." Warm things.

Snow outside, and sitting by the fire. The creak of an old-fashioned rocking chair. A woman's foot by his hand, rising up on tiptoe as the chair rocked back, then coming down when the chair came forward. His mother, home from tour, and Sam playing video games. Being completely warm and listening to the logs snap and pop, sipping hot cocoa and doing homework.

He tied off the ends of the bandage and glanced up, ready to tell Spock that one, at least, was done. But he stopped before he'd spoken, caught at the look on Spock's face.

Spock's gaze had turned inward, his head tilted slightly. He didn't look peaceful or content, exactly, but more like someone who'd heard a joke, and knew it should be funny, but couldn't quite puzzle out why. At the very least, Kirk decided, he looked _distracted_. Moving slowly and quietly, Kirk drew Spock's other foot over and started cleaning it, holding that image.

Sam muttering as he lost the game. The lick of the flames as they rose, bursting with life when the log fell into the coals.

He cleaned Spock's second foot, and wrapped it, too. Spock's face was relaxed, though his brows tightened and relaxed, as if working out some mental problem. Kirk rolled up the torn pants leg and regarded the crusted wound, the green blood so dark it was nearly black. Wordlessly, he started to soak the scabs away, tightening his grip on fireplace-warm-comfort-family when Spock tensed.

He couldn't entirely hold the scene, not when he had to pause and draw fabric out of the injury, but he did the best he could. Both of them were sweating by the time he began to wrap bandages around the graze, but at least it was clean. He put a hand on Spock's knee and brought the image back, the feeling of safety and heat, contentment he'd only felt when his mother was home, before he grew too old and the anger of her leaving drove everything else away. Sitting on the thick rug, the whole world muffled by the storm, listening to the creak of the rocking chair.

Spock relaxed. "Jim," he said softly, as Kirk finally let the image go.

Kirk looked up, eyebrows raised in question.

"You remembered that."

He had. He had! He grabbed for it again, frantically, reaching as it sank back into the abyss. Snow, a snowstorm, sitting by the fire, listening to--

Listening to--

Family, there had been family--

"No!" he snarled, closing his eyes as if that might bring it back. It had to be there. It _had to_. It had just been there, he could remember _remembering_ it, but everything was gone. He reached, and reached, and reached, pushing into the void--

The headache came first.

"Jim, stop. You're--"

"It was there! It was just there!" He could get it back, he _could_ \--

His muscles clamped down. His mind froze. His breathing hitched, struggling to get through lungs that seized. Darkness threatened, the maw that had stolen his memories offering to take him, too.

There were hands, and a voice telling him to relax. He couldn't remember. He shook and choked and _couldn't remember_. Finally, he stopped trying.

**

The seizure didn't last long. Kirk didn't lose consciousness. Both were good signs.

When blue eyes blinked open and stared sightlessly ahead, Spock watched. He and Kirk were curled together, Kirk wrapped in a blanket so no bare skin touched Spock, another blanket thrown over the top of them both for heat. Spock was finally starting to feel warm again.

Jim stared straight ahead and said nothing. Spock knew he was awake. He could feel the press of hard muscles against his chest with every breath, the minute shifting of legs that indicated wakefulness. Still, Jim said nothing.

"The fact that the memories continue to surface implies that your mind is repairing itself," Spock said into the quiet.

Jim didn't move out of the recovery position Spock had put him in. "I don't remember hardly anything more than when I woke up. I'm having seizures when I try. How, exactly, is that improvement?" His voice rose on the last words, tension sliding through his body.

Spock kept one arm tucked under his head, the other wrapped around Jim's chest. He could feel Jim's heartbeat, painfully slow. "I don't know," he said finally.

Jim didn't respond.

There was no logical next step. Nothing in Spock's upbringing had prepared him for this. He cast around for a solution, for any good news, but came up with nothing.

Then another suggestion presented itself. He took a bracing breath, and said slowly, considering his words, "Humans and Vulcans are quite similar. I might be able to put memories into your mind, though there is a twenty-three point five percent chance it won't work, and I estimate a point two three percent chance it will make things worse."

Kirk thought about that for a long time. "Like the old-you put memories in my head?"

That galled. That Ambassador Spock had done such a thing, at his age and theoretical wisdom--

Spock refused to think about it. There must have been a logical reason. Perhaps, like what he was suggesting, it was not a true mind meld. It was... something he would learn as he practiced working with humans. Yes, that was rational.

"Something like that," he said at last.

"I don't want your memories, Spock." Jim sagged.

"Not my memories," Spock said. "Not allowing you into my mind, which I am sure is not quite what Ambassador Spock did, either." One did not simply share everything with someone, unless that someone was a bond mate. Which, obviously, Kirk was not. But the likelihood that Ambassador Spock had done that was slim. It was just a _partial_ meld. Spock pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Not my memories -- you shared with me one of yours. I still remember it and, possibly, I could... give it back." Which was an inaccurate way of putting it, but--

Kirk twisted until his nose was inches from Spock's. "You could show me what I can't remember."

"I can simply show you what you already showed me," Spock clarified. "Might I remind you that there is a point two three--"

"Do it."

"We should consider the repercussions before--"

"Do it." Blue eyes glared at him intensely, so pale they were almost icy.

It would require dropping his shields again. Spock tightened his grip on them in response. For all the trauma earlier, they seemed to be holding well. His own emotions -- that legacy from his human side -- were back under lock and key. He'd been unable to keep Jim's memories out, but keeping another's thoughts out was more difficult than keeping his own emotions under control at the best of times.

He could do this.

Spock pulled his hand out from under the blankets, squirming it inelegantly between them until he was free. Carefully, he settled his fingertips against Jim's jaw and temple, feeling warm, elastic skin. His fingertips seemed to tingle, ever so slightly, as if Jim's electric life would wash over him. "Try to relax," he murmured.

Jim's own innate shields melted away, though Spock could still feel them prepared to snap back up. Not that shields so rudimentary would keep out a determined alien with psi abilities, but...

Aware of how breakable the human mind was, and especially Jim's in its current fractured state, Spock called up the images he'd been given, trusting that the emotions that had gone with them would make more sense to Jim. Carefully, slowly, he eased into Jim's mind, trying to go gently enough not to hurt the fragile human pathways.

A fire, a woman, her sons, a snowstorm, warmth and safety, those things that mattered so much to primitive creatures. A rug, the pop of flames, the soft muttering as one boy lost at a game.

Jim soaked it up, almost grasping for the next image, the next impression. Spock went delicately, withholding each memory until he was sure he wouldn't burn out the flicker of Jim's consciousness.

A consciousness that was, he thought with a chill, very empty.

When the last memory had been shared, Spock pulled back and focused again. Jim's eyes were closed, but liquid gathered at the raw corners. Spock studied him for signs of pain, but his color was good and his muscles weren't tense. "Jim?" he asked quietly.

Jim took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, blinking hard several times. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He continued watching though, just in case.

Jim rolled onto his back, staring up. "If it's gone when we wake up, you'll bring it back again, right?"

Spock hesitated. But Jim's voice was steady. "If you wish it."

Jim nodded. "I do. I mean, I will." He folded his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling. Spock did not think he was truly seeing it.

"Ah, hell," Jim muttered after a moment, and proceeded to squirm. At long last he pulled the gun from its holster, and laid it just above their heads. "In the morning, you need to show me how to shoot that thing, too." There was something odd in his tone, but Spock wasn't sure what it indicated. He did not, Spock thought, sound entirely self-confident.

Spock glanced at the weapon to be sure it was in easy reach, then settled back down. "Certainly. But perhaps we should wait until the afternoon, after we've slept."

"When we _wake up_ , Spock. You don't have to be so literal."

"I'm Vulcan. We--"

"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep." Jim's words were nonchalant but his tone was not. He rolled again, his back to Spock, and wadded a corner of the blanket under his head as a pillow.

Spock regarded Jim for a moment. Then, determining that there was no other help he could offer for the time being, he closed his eyes and put it out of his mind.

*******

Just FYI, guys, I'll be starting a new series soon, Switch To Decaf. It's an ensemble series, so many of the stories won't be released on character-specific comms. Feel free to friend me if you'd like to keep track and came over here from kirkspock or something like that. ;)

JB


	7. The Sum of its Parts NC-17 rated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NC-17 version of Chapter Seven. If you want the R rated version, go to the next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!
> 
> THIS VERSION IS RATED NC-17. IF YOU WANT THE R-RATED, FADE-TO-BLACK VERSION, GO TO THE NEXT CHAPTER.

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: 42,000

Summary:  
_Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

[Master list, previous chapters](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/518610.html).

 

Extra note: I'll post a copy of this chapter rated R in one second, for those people who don't want to read sex. ;)

Chapter Seven

Kirk came up from sleep only grudgingly, feeling warm and content for the first time in... well, memory didn't come too easily in a half-dream state, but he thought it had probably been a while. He mumbled a wordless protest against wakefulness in general, and his wakefulness in particular, and breathed in the damp, earthy scent of another person. His arm was thrown haphazardly over their torso, his hand over theirs. He wondered absently who he'd gone to bed with.

That pretty blond from Delta V? Or, wait, weren't they due for shore leave?

Idly, he traced the fingers under his own. Down the outside of one, until he felt the bulge of a knuckle, and then the soft webbing between thumb and index. He stopped and retraced his path, up a long way before reaching fingertips and neatly trimmed nails.

The redhead from that bar the other night. She'd had big hands. No, not her, he decided without much conscious thought. He felt too close to this person.

His touch slid downward, following the line of skin. Whoever it was, he was too sleepy to look. He hoped they'd be willing for a start of the day grope. It was much more fun to take care of morning wood with help from another person. He smiled lazily against cloth, wondering if his face was on the pillow or if she was one of these who liked to sleep clothed. He could take care of clothes. Soon as he got the energy to do so. He was comfortable here, safe enough not to have to be self-sure and arrogant. His fingers kept tracing the outline of hers, lazily seductive.

Heat flushed through him, unexpectedly warm. He traced the next finger, shivering at the feel of skin over skin. At the soft roughness of each joint. He'd never noticed how very sensitive hands were, before...

His companion made a small noise, shifting beside him. Another wash of desire cascaded through Jim, and he moved one leg restlessly. His fingertips dragged over the top of the large hand, sliding down each digit. It felt better on the index. He changed his focus without thinking about it, stroking up one side, down the other. Restlessness washed away sleepiness in gut-tightening lust, and he opened his eyes a slit. He could see that he was pressed against a clothed shoulder, see a throat with an Adam's apple and didn't care that his partner was male, not with the rapidly building demands of his body.

Spock -- Spock? -- opened his eyes, looking hazy and little unfocused. Nothing of the cool, calm reserve lingered in them now. It was really hot. Kirk's arousal rose a notch, and somehow it echoed and came back brighter than ever. He could _feel_ the shudder as he drew his fingertips down the over-large hand again, and heat coiled brightly in his stomach.

He didn't think he'd ever been so horny. His hands ached with the desire to be touched. His body throbbed. With every breath he could feel need spiral into the figure beside him and spark back, a flicker becoming an inferno. He pushed up onto his free elbow, sliding his arm down off Spock's hand and onto the slim boned wrist. He didn't bother supporting his own weight. Pressure and friction were more important now. He leaned in, sprawled half across Spock, chest to chest, running his hand up Spock's arm, feeling the shape of biceps.

And Spock moved, too, both hands sliding down Jim's bare ribcage, leaving trembling, licking flames of desire and arousal in their wake. Strong fingers wrapped around his hips and pulled him over and in so he lay full-length on Spock. They ground together.

"Oh, fuck," Jim managed to gasp, lowering his head and licking a stripe down Spock's neck. It echoed back to him, and for a moment he could have sworn he was underneath, a hot, wet tongue stroking-- He groaned and bit down on the edge of Spock's jaw, feeling that, too.

Spock rubbed up in a way normal human strength couldn't have managed. It pressed them together from their knees to their necks, and created the most delicious friction on his -- Spock's -- their cocks. Kirk nearly whimpered at the double whammy of sensation, and thrust closer -- as if he could get any closer.

One of his knees slid aside, landing on the hard wooden floor. He used it as leverage, that and Spock's hands pulling him in. He buried his face near Spock's neck, breathing sweat and dirt and the odd metallic scent that was Vulcan. He skimmed his hands up under Spock's shirt, shuddering again as soon as their skin touched.

On the softest of exhalations, Spock murmured, "Yes." That single word made Jim's muscles clench. Spock's head turned, mouth pressing up against Jim's jaw, the corner of his mouth--

Jim turned his head to kiss back, lips opening, tongue sweeping in to stroke against Spock's tongue, to slide against warm heat, and all the while Spock's hands were keeping up a grinding rhythm, pulling Jim's hips in to rub them together.

Kirk groaned, the noise swallowed, and scratched his snub nails down a narrow ribcage heavily padded with muscle. The sensation as it echoed back was stardust and alien and human all in one. Spock arched beneath him, one foot bracing against the floor to thrust up harder, and there was no more kissing because it was so much more important to grind and thrust and slide and fuck.

He needed to brace his weight on one hand to thrust harder, but he could drag the other hand down -- and ohgod he could feel that, too, feel the touch of skin on his side, hot breath against his neck, hear his own heartbeat pound slow and fast at the same time -- and hook Spock's pants lower, hook his own lower -- the hands on his hips held him close. He fought against them, struggling to get space between their bodies.

"Spock--" He laughed, just that and nothing else, accompanied with a heartfelt groan. Finally, Spock loosened his grip and Jim pulled away the tiniest bit.

"Wait--" Spock leaned up, fingers tightening again, and Jim felt a flash of arousal-lust-heat- _now_ through the touch on his hips.

"S'okay," he managed to croak, letting his head sink to brush his mouth against Spock's -- all he could manage without plastering them together again (but oh God, that was tempting). One-handed, he yanked his pants down enough to free his cock, yanked Spock's down the same amount, and dropped back down, skin to skin.

It was like touching a live wire. Spock braced both legs on the floor, and distantly Jim felt a flash of pain through his -- not his -- abraded feet. It didn't matter. It was a drop into a tsunami, adding to the whole and changing nothing. Jim couldn't even keep a rhythm up, shuddering and jerking, rubbing up against Spock's prick and it was perfect and brilliant and--

Orgasm was ripped from him, body and soul, smashing him into bits and pieces as he felt it rock through Spock, too, double the intensity, triple the intensity, until he couldn't breathe and he thought his heart might stop because each kept feeding the other sensation.

When he could finally think again, his muscles were still shaking. He felt like a husk, burned through and left. His breath came hard and fast, his lungs ached, sweat damp on his skin. The fingers on his hips flexed once and stopped moving. He could feel Spock's heartbeat -- on his stomach, which was just weird. Breath as unsteady and harsh as his own warmed the side of his head.

Sanity began to sink in, as the Vulcan below him went quietly still.

"Spock?" Jim croaked.

"Yes, Captain?" It was so formal, it almost hurt.

"Do we... do this often?"

"No, Captain."

Jim licked chapped lips, and winced at the moment of pain. Then he pushed away, rolling off of Spock and scooting out from under the blanket, leaning against the wall several feet distant. Spock sat up, staring straight ahead, tugging the blanket up over his lap.

Jim pulled his pants back up and wished he had a shirt. At least that might cover the smears of semen across his stomach. He rubbed at them, and wiped his hand off on the corner of the blanket.

Spock didn't look at him.

"Okay. Well. That was... educational." The best fucking orgasm he'd ever had, is what it was. His toes still tingled. He'd just had sex with a man. He was pretty positive that was a first, because if it wasn't a first he probably wouldn't be so busy freaking the fuck out. "Uh. Have you ever done... that...?"

"No, Captain." Spock was _still_ staring at the damned wall.

"Wow. So that was, um..." What the hell was it? "We're both adults. I mean, sure, this is weird, but we don't have to panic or anything. Let's not be crazy about this." His words pattered out between them, and still somehow didn't either fill the silence Spock was keeping, or bridge the sudden chasm.

"I see no reason to be distressed over what has happened, Captain. And I take full responsibility for--"

"Wait, who's distressed?" Except Spock, obviously, since he wouldn't _look_ anywhere but at the wall, and he was calling Jim Captain again. Jim wasn't distressed. What was there to be distressed about? It was just jerking off. Really. A misunderstanding or something. Just a fluke. No big deal.

"Your rapid speech would indicate--"

"I don't have rapid speech. And anyway, you're the one staring at the damn wall. And what do you mean, you take 'full responsibility'? What kind of shit is that?"

Spock gathered the blanket further around his waist with tiny movements of his fingers. "I believe that my shields being low and us being in skin to skin contact resulted in--"

"We had sex because your _touch telepathy_ made us?" It was hilarious. Too hilarious. Jim fought the urge to laugh hysterically. "But that means one of us had to want it, right? Feed it to the other one and--" And he'd woken up horny. "...Oh god."

Spock continued staring at the wall. The tips of his ears had gone faintly green, as had the line of his jaw.

"You're not gonna puke, are you? Because you look like you might."

"No."

"Okay. Great. Well." Jim looked everywhere but at Spock. "Does touch telepathy normally...?" They'd been sleeping together in the cell and this hadn't happened! ...He thought.

"I believe it was the added mental intimacy of sharing memories. And as I said, my shields were low."

That was oddly reassuring, and weirdly distressing. "We're both adults," Kirk reiterated, as if saying it enough would make everything normal again. "This was just like, a crazy kind of... thing." What had happened to his powers of _speech_? He used to have them. "You know. It was just... a weird coincidence. No one's fault, exactly." Fuck, had he just managed to Vulcan brain-rape Spock because Spock had given him a memory and Spock's shields were low and Jim had woken up _horny_? "I mean... you're okay, right?"

"Me?" Spock glanced at him, then away again. "Of course. Physically, there were no injuries, and it seems to have done little to my mental shields. It was, as you said, an accident."

"Right."

"And I take full respon--"

"Would you stop that? Christ, Spock." Jim rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It takes two people to have, uh, semi-consensual sex." And he certainly hadn't been about to say no. Best orgasm _ever_. He really wished he hadn't thought that.

"Yes," Spock said tightly, "but if not for my telepathy--"

 _Oh_. "Uh, I started it."

Apparently even Spock couldn't disagree with that. He tipped his head fractionally, but still didn't look over.

"So..." Kirk began again, "we're both adults--"

"You've said that several times, and I fail to see what our age has to do with--"

"We're both _reasonable people_ , who can see that this was just a mistake, and everything's fine. I didn't take advantage of you," thank God, "you didn't take advantage of me." Best orgasm _ever_. "It doesn't have to change anything." Right. Like that ever worked. But then, he was usually dealing with emotional women, and Spock was... as opposite from all of that as it was possible to get.

Spock's shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly. "That is logical."

"Yes. Logical. I'm glad we agree. We'll just put this behind us and, uh, never talk about it again."

Spock nodded. It was almost enthusiastic. "Yes. I believe that would be the rational course of action."

"Okay. Great." There was still semen on his stomach, and it was starting to dry. "There was a well out back. I'm gonna go wash."

Spock nodded again, and Jim rose, hurrying out of the room. So fucking awkward.

**

It was illogical to be embarrassed about what had obviously been a simple mistake. Therefore, Spock was not embarrassed. Even so, it was with a sense of relief (because the captain was being logical, too) that Jim didn't bring the subject up, after Jim had finished a cold bath.

Spock took one of his own, for hygiene's sake.

"You want the good news or the bad news?" Jim asked as soon as Spock walked back into the little house. Spock paused in the doorway, refusing to limp on his injured feet or leg, refusing to allow the cold of outside to drive him inside.

"Is there a reason I might prefer one over the other?" he asked curiously.

Jim looked at him, gave a quiet little laugh, and said, "No. The good news is, there's plenty of cans of food. Looks like they were preparing for a siege. Further good news is that there's plenty of alcohol, which means you, at least, can say hydrated." Jim paused, frowning inwardly. "You can stay hydrated with alcohol, right?"

"I will not become inebriated, if that's what you're asking, but alcohol is not known for its hydrational properties."

Kirk frowned. "Oh. Right. Well, the bad news is there's no clothing." Jim looked sadly at the pile of discarded bandages that used to be his shirt.

"I suggest we make use of the blankets, Captain." As if Jim's silence had released him, Spock stepped fully inside. "While this is a desert and we need not worry about precipitation, it is still quite cold outside."

"I'd noticed," Jim intoned dryly. "If they wanted us to get away and call the Enterprise and the ambassador, you think they'll just let us go?"

Spock knelt beside the lighter of the two blankets, folding it quickly. He was dressed again, or as dressed as he could get, with one pant leg ripped off. Kirk was wandering around in his heavy weight pants with the heavier blanket draped over his shoulders. "I doubt it. They have no reason to believe we'll comply with their plans. At the very least, I would expect they'll be trying to keep us observed."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, I thought you might say something like that. So. Thoughts on what to do now?"

Spock stood, the folded blanket draped over one arm. "If my calculations are correct, there should be a settlement a day's walk from here. I suggest we empty the bottles of alcohol, fill them with water, and begin walking."

Jim looked up toward the hole in the ceiling and the sun far above. A pale shadow draped down over the line of his throat, as if accentuating the way skin slid over his Adam's apple, then down collarbones and a well developed chest.

Spock only noticed because the captain was half naked, and likely to become cold.

"Our day's halfway over already," Jim pointed out.

"Then perhaps we should begin moving without delay."

**

"How different _are_ Vulcans and humans? I mean, we can't be too different, right? Your mom managed to get pregnant with you..." Jim trailed off, glancing over at the man beside him. The sun was high in its orbit, a tiny speck of light washing down onto the world and coating it all in pale red. It was really dreary. And it was _cold_. Walking at least kept them moving, but he could still see the fine shiver that had picked up in Spock's fingertips and hadn't gone away.

An expression touched Spock's face, or maybe the very edge of an expression. Like being brushed by butterfly wings, Jim wasn't sure if he'd actually seen it or not. He imagined he had, though. "I was... unexpected."

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "How'd that happen?"

"It was not thought that Vulcans and humans would cross-breed without great scientific help."

Jim mulled that over for a while. "I bet not many accidental births happen on Vulcan."

"Of course not. Children are regarded as a great boon. The only sure way to continue a species."

"Even half-human children?" As soon as the words were out, he wished he could snatch them back. But Spock only inclined his head wordlessly and said nothing. "Well, obviously you were wanted." Oh God, he really hoped so.

"My mother once told me I was a, 'gift from God.' She was a theist." He said this almost apologetically.

Kirk grinned under the hood of his blanket. "How irrational."

"Precisely."

Jim chuckled and shifted his blanket to try and cover more skin. The desert marched on in front of them. At least all those damn boulders were gone. "Tell me how we met. Did we get along okay?"

"Not... exactly, Captain."

That was interesting. The pause more than anything; he was learning that when Spock paused, he was either calculating or trying to phrase something delicately. Tact from a man who didn't believe in emotion: it was an interesting juxtaposition. "Did we hate each other?" Jim asked, almost gleefully.

"I do not hate."

"Did I hate you?"

"I believe there was some dislike on your part."

Kirk kicked at a small rock. This was like trying to interrogate a prisoner. "Any chance we'll get to a settlement before the sun sets?"

"Not unless a transport comes by."

"And that's not likely?" He didn't really need it answered. There'd been no sign of any roads or any civilization since they'd passed beyond the fence that went around the farmhouse they'd slept in. He asked anyway, just for something to talk about.

"I calculate the odds as one thousand, two hundred and eight to one."

Jim stopped walking. Spock continued on another few steps, then paused and turned to look back. "One thousand, two hundred and eight?"

"To one, sir."

Jim stared at him, then barked out a laugh and started walking, keeping distance between them. They'd had at least four feet between them all day. Ever since -- well, pretty much since they'd woken up so spectacularly (but Jim wasn't going to think about that). "What's the likelihood of the Enterprise managing to randomly beam us aboard?"

"Fifteen million, three hundred and ninety-five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six to one." Spock hesitated, then added, "Approximately, with a point seven variable for who is leading the search and how long it took them to realize we're missing."

"Of course." Jim grinned. "And the odds that we'll find someone who can help us communicate to the ship without getting caught again?"

"Two hundred and fifty-three to one."

Somehow, that didn't seem so bad. "And the odds that we'll have sex again?" He had not actually just asked that. He really, really hadn't.

Spock responded as if it were a perfectly acceptable question. "One thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six to one."

Jim blinked. "What?"

Spock repeated it.

"No, I mean -- not like, eighty million to one? I mean, one thousand, nine-hundred and whatever--"

"Twenty-six."

Kirk waved a hand, and his whole blanket flapped. "--that's pretty low."

"Still highly unlikely."

"Yeah, but not as unlikely as being found by the Enterprise and randomly beamed aboard."

Spock conceded the point with a nod. "We will likely be staying out here another night, Captain, and as we have no more than blankets and body heat..."

That was annoying. Jim scowled and kicked at another rock. "So, wait, you're telling me that you'd only sleep with me again if I got horny and overwhelmed your touch-telepathy because we were cuddling?" That had been a fucking good orgasm, damn it, and he was positive that Spock had felt it, too.

"My shields are feeling quite recovered, so in all likelihood you will not be able to overwhelm them again. And I will be on guard against it."

Jim kicked another rock. "Well... good. But -- not that I want to -- but there must be some other reason you'd have sex with me. I mean, that was a pretty low probability. Compared to zero." How had they gotten on this topic, again?

"Taking into account all possible reasons that you and I might ever have sexual relations again..." Spock trailed off, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. Jim watched him, enthralled. "I calculate that the likelihood is closer to one hundred and three to one. But that is taking into consideration even the inhibition-lowering spores reported to have been found on Omicron Ceti III."

"Ah-HA!" Jim cried, darting forward into Spock's path. Spock stopped and looked at him expectantly. "So you admit that if it weren't for your inhibitions, you would have sex with me again!"

"Actually, Captain, I was thinking that if it weren't for your inhibitions, you might--"

"I'm totally straight," Jim hastened to affirm.

"I see. Then perhaps one hundred and fifteen to one."

Jim eyed Spock, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's not a very different number."

"Being completely heterosexual did not stop you this morning, Captain."

"Stop _me_? It didn't stop you, either!" Jim tensed when Spock stiffened, and scuttled quickly out of the way when Spock's skin washed an odd shade of green. "Are you about to vomit?"

"No, Captain."

"You just turned green."

"Indeed."

And that was apparently the end of the conversation. Jim wrapped his blanket more firmly around himself, gave Spock a suspicious look, and, aware of the idiotic sight they made standing in the desert arguing, turned and continued on.

They kept the four feet of space between them.

**

"Do I have a girlfriend?"

Spock answered with the same implacability he'd answered all the other questions of the day. "No, Jim." He'd given up on creating professionalism with titles when Jim had started calling him Peaches.

"Why not?"

"I believe you did not want any of the crew to feel their positions would be in jeopardy or dependent upon consorting with you." It was completely rational. Spock had approved.

"Huh."

There was a period of quiet, broken only by their cautious footsteps through the lengthening shadows. Spock watched where he stepped, unable to feel his toes. They'd wrapped as many layers around his feet as they could, but still the cold from the ground soaked upward. The watery sun did little to warm anything. His fingers had frozen into position, clutching the blanket around his shoulders in a vain effort to retain body heat. Vulcans were meant for warm deserts, not cold ones.

"Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?" The last had particular emphasis.

Apparently Jim still had no whisper of memory. Spock refused to be bothered by it. "I do not. I was seeing a Lieutenant Uhura, but as she had needs I could not meet it seemed illogical to continue." Jim looked at him very oddly, both eyebrows arching upward. Pale blue eyes flicked down toward Spock's hips. Spock simply waited, certain that nothing on Jim's mind would remain unspoken for long.

"I know first hand humans and Vulcans are sexually compatible..."

"Indeed we are. Her needs were in the form of emotional support I was unable to provide."

"Ah," Jim said with great authority. "You were a cold fish."

Spock glanced at him, unfamiliar with the colloquialism. He filed it away to look up later.

"Are you sure we didn't have sex before?"

"I am."

"Not even in that cell? There was only one bed. And it was an awfully small bed."

"We did not have sexual relations either in the cell or before." Spock refused to let Jim's questions make him uncomfortable. If there was one thing he'd learned in dealing with Jim, it was that any expression of emotion was seen as encouragement.

"I think we spooned."

Spock did his best to guess at the meaning of that, then finally had to ask. "I am unfamiliar with the term."

"You know. One person cuddles around the other, like cupped spoons?" Jim grinned at him, and he suspected that despite his best attempts, Jim was enjoying his minor emotional responses.

"Ah. We did spoon, but platonically, for warmth."

"Huh." They walked in silence. The small, red sun sank lower toward the horizon. They'd stopped for food a few hours before, pried from the tins carried in the pockets of the jailor's pants, and had enough left for another meal. It would be enough to get them to a settlement: Spock calculated that it would take them only five more hours to reach the nearest village.

The dustcloud behind them made him wonder if they had another five hours. Without shelter, though, all they could do was keep moving.

After another few hundred yards, Jim spoke again. "Did I ever hit on you before?"

"I--" Spock stopped, unsure suddenly if he'd have noticed. "Not to my knowledge."

"You don't think that's weird?"

Spock considered it. "Possibly, as you do 'hit on' everything, from what others say. I'm afraid I have trouble discerning flirtatious behavior in humans with simple friendly behavior."

Jim stared at him. "Not that, Spock!" he cried. "Don't you think it's weird that you can't tell! I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have hit on a man!"

Spock looked at him, baffled and trying not to be. "Then why were you asking?"

"Never mind," Jim muttered.

The wind, dead all day long, was starting to pick up again. Spock pulled his blanket closer around himself.

Jim broke the silence, sounding mournful. "Do I _ever_ get laid? No wonder I jumped you."

Spock wondered if Jim thought of anything except sex. It was getting harder and harder to control his blood flow, to keep from flushing at the memory of that morning. The gentle touch of fingers sliding along his, murky thoughts of arousal... He blocked those off quickly. "I believe you take full advantage of shore leave."

"For all the good it does me. I can't fucking remember it..."

Spock tried to calculate how many days it had been since the _shirai_ had been used, but his own black-out in the middle, and his subsequent interrogation, made that impossible. He was, however, certain that if memories were going to return, they should have begun to appear at a great rate by now. "Do you remember nothing?"

"Only what you gave me back last night."

"Hmm."

Though darkness was falling fast enough that he could no longer make out Jim's features, he could almost hear the very human smile. "Not a good sign, huh?"

"I'm afraid not. Perhaps--" He paused, rethinking his own words.

"What? I don't suppose you could pull them out of my head for me, could you?"

What he'd been about to suggest froze on his tongue. He _could_ , in theory, pull images out of Jim's mind for him. Possibly jump-start the link between consciousness and stored memories. A true mind-meld, not any of the partial things he did to read thoughts, might break down those barriers--  
It was a risk. It was meant only for the most committed of bonds. He didn't have enough practice. Human minds were very delicate. There were cases of warriors bonding together in the history of Vulcan, but that was in the barbaric ages, when they had allowed emotions to push them into war. "No, Jim," he said at last. "I can't." Then he continued before Jim could probe, knowing how the captain tended to grab hold of an idea and refuse to let it go. "But perhaps, if you searched your mind now... the one memory did return last night. That would indicate that others might."

"Yeah." Jim sounded glum.

They walked on in silence. The cold grew. Spock watched his footing all the more carefully. The tips of his ears hurt. He ignored that, as he ignored the pain stabbing up from his feet and the agony in his leg. Pain was a mental weakness.

Jim's breathing hitched. Spock glanced over as Jim stumbled and fell to one knee.

"I -- I remember--" The words choked off, memory unspoken. Jim's hand curled into a fist against the dirt, eyes closing tightly. His breath became labored.

Spock knelt beside him, one hand flat on Jim's back. Even with cloth between them, he could feel the mental torment radiating out, the fight that Jim refused to lose.

Spock could feel what that fight was doing to Jim's body.

"Let it go," Spock said firmly.

Jim shook his head once. The blanket fell to one side. Spock could see muscles standing hard against Jim's neck.

"Let it go," he said again, with more intensity. "This is killing you. Stop!"

It was too late. Arms and legs buckled. Jim's eyes rolled up into his head and he nearly sagged forward, facefirst into the dirt, except that Spock caught him and rolled him sideways.

There was nothing more to be done, as the seizure took over. Spock held him, tried to make him as comfortable as possible, and watched as his captain and friend convulsed.

********************


	8. Chapter 7, R-rated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the R-rated version of Chapter Seven. If you'd like to read the NC-17 version, go back one. If you're looking for Chapter Eight, go forward one.

  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Kirk came up from sleep only grudgingly, feeling warm and content for the first time in... well, memory didn't come too easily in a half-dream state, but he thought it had probably been a while. He mumbled a wordless protest against wakefulness in general, and his wakefulness in particular, and breathed in the damp, earthy scent of another person. His arm was thrown haphazardly over their torso, his hand over theirs. He wondered absently who he'd gone to bed with.  
  
That pretty blond from Delta V? Or, wait, weren't they due for shore leave?  
  
Idly, he traced the fingers under his own. Down the outside of one, until he felt the bulge of a knuckle, and then the soft webbing between thumb and index. He stopped and retraced his path, up a long way before reaching fingertips and neatly trimmed nails.  
  
The redhead from that bar the other night. She'd had big hands. No, not her, he decided without much conscious thought. He felt too close to this person.  
  
His touch slid downward, following the line of skin. Whoever it was, he was too sleepy to look. He hoped they'd be willing for a start of the day grope. It was much more fun to take care of morning wood with help from another person. He smiled lazily against cloth, wondering if his face was on the pillow or if she was one of these who liked to sleep clothed. He could take care of clothes. Soon as he got the energy to do so. He was comfortable here, safe enough not to have to be self-sure and arrogant. His fingers kept tracing the outline of hers, lazily seductive.  
  
Heat flushed through him, unexpectedly warm. He traced the next finger, shivering at the feel of skin over skin. At the soft roughness of each joint. He'd never noticed how very sensitive hands were, before...  
  
His companion made a small noise, shifting beside him. Another wash of desire cascaded through Jim, and he moved one leg restlessly. His fingertips dragged over the top of the large hand, sliding down each digit. It felt better on the index. He changed his focus without thinking about it, stroking up one side, down the other. Restlessness washed away sleepiness in gut-tightening lust, and he opened his eyes a slit. He could see that he was pressed against a clothed shoulder, see a throat with an Adam's apple and didn't care that his partner was male, not with the rapidly building demands of his body.  
  
Spock -- Spock? -- opened his eyes, looking hazy and little unfocused. Nothing of the cool, calm reserve lingered in them now. It was really hot. Kirk's arousal rose a notch, and somehow it echoed and came back brighter than ever. He could _feel_ the shudder as he drew his fingertips down the over-large hand again, and heat coiled brightly in his stomach.  
  
He didn't think he'd ever been so horny. His hands ached with the desire to be touched. His body throbbed. With every breath he could feel need spiral into the figure beside him and spark back, a flicker becoming an inferno. He pushed up onto his free elbow, sliding his arm down off Spock's hand and onto the slim boned wrist. He didn't bother supporting his own weight. Pressure and friction were more important now. He leaned in, sprawled half across Spock, chest to chest, running his hand up Spock's arm, feeling the shape of biceps.  
  
And Spock moved, too, both hands sliding down Jim's bare ribcage, leaving trembling, licking flames of desire and arousal in their wake. Strong fingers wrapped around his hips and pulled him over and in so he lay full-length on Spock. They ground together.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Jim managed to gasp, lowering his head and licking a stripe down Spock's neck. It echoed back to him, and for a moment he could have sworn he was underneath, a hot, wet tongue stroking-- He groaned and bit down on the edge of Spock's jaw, feeling that, too.  
  
Spock rubbed up in a way normal human strength couldn't have managed. It pressed them together from their knees to their necks, and created the most delicious friction. Kirk nearly whimpered at the double whammy of sensation, and pressed closer -- as if he could get any closer.  
  
One of his knees slid aside, landing on the hard wooden floor. He used it as leverage, that and Spock's hands pulling him in. He buried his face near Spock's neck, breathing sweat and dirt and the odd metallic scent that was Vulcan. He skimmed his hands up under Spock's shirt, shuddering again as soon as their skin touched.  
  
On the softest of exhalations, Spock murmured, "Yes." That single word made Jim's muscles clench. Spock's head turned, mouth pressing up against Jim's jaw, the corner of his mouth--  
  
Jim turned his head to kiss back, lips opening, tongue sweeping in to stroke against Spock's tongue, to slide against warm heat.  
  
It all happened too fast. The world became the both of them, and nothing more than sensation echoing back and forth from one body to the next, one mind to the other. When release finally came, it nearly drove Jim over the edge of oblivion, leaving him gasping for air.  
  
He felt like a husk, burned through and left. His breath came hard and fast, his lungs ached, sweat damp on his skin. The fingers on his hips flexed once and stopped moving. He could feel Spock's heartbeat -- on his stomach, which was just weird. Breath as unsteady and harsh as his own warmed the side of his head.  
  
Sanity began to sink in, as the Vulcan below him went quietly still.  
  
"Spock?" Jim croaked.  
  
"Yes, Captain?" It was so formal, it almost hurt.  
  
"Do we... do this often?"  
  
"No, Captain."  
  
Jim licked chapped lips, and winced at the moment of pain. Then he pushed away, rolling off of Spock and scooting out from under the blanket, leaning against the wall several feet distant. Spock sat up, staring straight ahead, tugging the blanket up over his lap.  
  
Jim pulled his pants back up and wished he had a shirt. At least that might cover the smears of semen across his stomach. He rubbed at them, and wiped his hand off on the corner of the blanket.  
  
Spock didn't look at him.  
  
"Okay. Well. That was... educational." The best fucking orgasm he'd ever had, is what it was. His toes still tingled. He'd just had sex with a man. He was pretty positive that was a first, because if it wasn't a first he probably wouldn't be so busy freaking the fuck out. "Uh. Have you ever done... that...?"  
  
"No, Captain." Spock was _still_ staring at the damned wall.  
  
"Wow. So that was, um..." What the hell was it? "We're both adults. I mean, sure, this is weird, but we don't have to panic or anything. Let's not be crazy about this." His words pattered out between them, and still somehow didn't either fill the silence Spock was keeping, or bridge the sudden chasm.  
  
"I see no reason to be distressed over what has happened, Captain. And I take full responsibility for--"  
  
"Wait, who's distressed?" Except Spock, obviously, since he wouldn't _look_ anywhere but at the wall, and he was calling Jim Captain again. Jim wasn't distressed. What was there to be distressed about? It was just jerking off. Really. A misunderstanding or something. Just a fluke. No big deal.  
  
"Your rapid speech would indicate--"  
  
"I don't have rapid speech. And anyway, you're the one staring at the damn wall. And what do you mean, you take 'full responsibility'? What kind of shit is that?"  
  
Spock gathered the blanket further around his waist with tiny movements of his fingers. "I believe that my shields being low and us being in skin to skin contact resulted in--"  
  
"We had sex because your _touch telepathy_ made us?" It was hilarious. Too hilarious. Jim fought the urge to laugh hysterically. "But that means one of us had to want it, right? Feed it to the other one and--" And he'd woken up horny. "...Oh god."  
  
Spock continued staring at the wall. The tips of his ears had gone faintly green, as had the line of his jaw.  
  
"You're not gonna puke, are you? Because you look like you might."  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay. Great. Well." Jim looked everywhere but at Spock. "Does touch telepathy normally...?" They'd been sleeping together in the cell and this hadn't happened! ...He thought.  
  
"I believe it was the added mental intimacy of sharing memories. And as I said, my shields were low."  
  
That was oddly reassuring, and weirdly distressing. "We're both adults," Kirk reiterated, as if saying it enough would make everything normal again. "This was just like, a crazy kind of... thing." What had happened to his powers of _speech_? He used to have them. "You know. It was just... a weird coincidence. No one's fault, exactly." Fuck, had he just managed to Vulcan brain-rape Spock because Spock had given him a memory and Spock's shields were low and Jim had woken up _horny_? "I mean... you're okay, right?"  
  
"Me?" Spock glanced at him, then away again. "Of course. Physically, there were no injuries, and it seems to have done little to my mental shields. It was, as you said, an accident."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And I take full respon--"  
  
"Would you stop that? Christ, Spock." Jim rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It takes two people to have, uh, semi-consensual sex." And he certainly hadn't been about to say no. Best orgasm _ever_. He really wished he hadn't thought that.  
  
"Yes," Spock said tightly, "but if not for my telepathy--"  
  
_Oh_. "Uh, I started it."  
  
Apparently even Spock couldn't disagree with that. He tipped his head fractionally, but still didn't look over.  
  
"So..." Kirk began again, "we're both adults--"  
  
"You've said that several times, and I fail to see what our age has to do with--"  
  
"We're both _reasonable people_ , who can see that this was just a mistake, and everything's fine. I didn't take advantage of you," thank God, "you didn't take advantage of me." Best orgasm _ever_. "It doesn't have to change anything." Right. Like that ever worked. But then, he was usually dealing with emotional women, and Spock was... as opposite from all of that as it was possible to get.  
  
Spock's shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly. "That is logical."  
  
"Yes. Logical. I'm glad we agree. We'll just put this behind us and, uh, never talk about it again."  
  
Spock nodded. It was almost enthusiastic. "Yes. I believe that would be the rational course of action."  
  
"Okay. Great." There was still semen on his stomach, and it was starting to dry. "There was a well out back. I'm gonna go wash."  
  
Spock nodded again, and Jim rose, hurrying out of the room. So fucking awkward.  
  
**  
  
It was illogical to be embarrassed about what had obviously been a simple mistake. Therefore, Spock was not embarrassed. Even so, it was with a sense of relief (because the captain was being logical, too) that Jim didn't bring the subject up, after Jim had finished a cold bath.  
  
Spock took one of his own, for hygiene's sake.  
  
"You want the good news or the bad news?" Jim asked as soon as Spock walked back into the little house. Spock paused in the doorway, refusing to limp on his injured feet or leg, refusing to allow the cold of outside to drive him inside.  
  
"Is there a reason I might prefer one over the other?" he asked curiously.  
  
Jim looked at him, gave a quiet little laugh, and said, "No. The good news is, there's plenty of cans of food. Looks like they were preparing for a siege. Further good news is that there's plenty of alcohol, which means you, at least, can say hydrated." Jim paused, frowning inwardly. "You can stay hydrated with alcohol, right?"  
  
"I will not become inebriated, if that's what you're asking, but alcohol is not known for its hydrational properties."  
  
Kirk frowned. "Oh. Right. Well, the bad news is there's no clothing." Jim looked sadly at the pile of discarded bandages that used to be his shirt.  
  
"I suggest we make use of the blankets, Captain." As if Jim's silence had released him, Spock stepped fully inside. "While this is a desert and we need not worry about precipitation, it is still quite cold outside."  
  
"I'd noticed," Jim intoned dryly. "If they wanted us to get away and call the Enterprise and the ambassador, you think they'll just let us go?"  
  
Spock knelt beside the lighter of the two blankets, folding it quickly. He was dressed again, or as dressed as he could get, with one pant leg ripped off. Kirk was wandering around in his heavy weight pants with the heavier blanket draped over his shoulders. "I doubt it. They have no reason to believe we'll comply with their plans. At the very least, I would expect they'll be trying to keep us observed."  
  
Jim sighed. "Yeah, I thought you might say something like that. So. Thoughts on what to do now?"  
  
Spock stood, the folded blanket draped over one arm. "If my calculations are correct, there should be a settlement a day's walk from here. I suggest we empty the bottles of alcohol, fill them with water, and begin walking."  
  
Jim looked up toward the hole in the ceiling and the sun far above. A pale shadow draped down over the line of his throat, as if accentuating the way skin slid over his Adam's apple, then down collarbones and a well developed chest.  
  
Spock only noticed because the captain was half naked, and likely to become cold.  
  
"Our day's halfway over already," Jim pointed out.  
  
"Then perhaps we should begin moving without delay."  
  
**  
  
"How different _are_ Vulcans and humans? I mean, we can't be too different, right? Your mom managed to get pregnant with you..." Jim trailed off, glancing over at the man beside him. The sun was high in its orbit, a tiny speck of light washing down onto the world and coating it all in pale red. It was really dreary. And it was _cold_. Walking at least kept them moving, but he could still see the fine shiver that had picked up in Spock's fingertips and hadn't gone away.  
  
An expression touched Spock's face, or maybe the very edge of an expression. Like being brushed by butterfly wings, Jim wasn't sure if he'd actually seen it or not. He imagined he had, though. "I was... unexpected."  
  
Jim's eyebrows shot up. "How'd that happen?"  
  
"It was not thought that Vulcans and humans would cross-breed without great scientific help."  
  
Jim mulled that over for a while. "I bet not many accidental births happen on Vulcan."  
  
"Of course not. Children are regarded as a great boon. The only sure way to continue a species."  
  
"Even half-human children?" As soon as the words were out, he wished he could snatch them back. But Spock only inclined his head wordlessly and said nothing. "Well, obviously you were wanted." Oh God, he really hoped so.  
  
"My mother once told me I was a, 'gift from God.' She was a theist." He said this almost apologetically.  
  
Kirk grinned under the hood of his blanket. "How irrational."  
  
"Precisely."  
  
Jim chuckled and shifted his blanket to try and cover more skin. The desert marched on in front of them. At least all those damn boulders were gone. "Tell me how we met. Did we get along okay?"  
  
"Not... exactly, Captain."  
  
That was interesting. The pause more than anything; he was learning that when Spock paused, he was either calculating or trying to phrase something delicately. Tact from a man who didn't believe in emotion: it was an interesting juxtaposition. "Did we hate each other?" Jim asked, almost gleefully.  
  
"I do not hate."  
  
"Did I hate you?"  
  
"I believe there was some dislike on your part."  
  
Kirk kicked at a small rock. This was like trying to interrogate a prisoner. "Any chance we'll get to a settlement before the sun sets?"  
  
"Not unless a transport comes by."  
  
"And that's not likely?" He didn't really need it answered. There'd been no sign of any roads or any civilization since they'd passed beyond the fence that went around the farmhouse they'd slept in. He asked anyway, just for something to talk about.  
  
"I calculate the odds as one thousand, two hundred and eight to one."  
  
Jim stopped walking. Spock continued on another few steps, then paused and turned to look back. "One thousand, two hundred and eight?"  
  
"To one, sir."  
  
Jim stared at him, then barked out a laugh and started walking, keeping distance between them. They'd had at least four feet between them all day. Ever since -- well, pretty much since they'd woken up so spectacularly (but Jim wasn't going to think about that). "What's the likelihood of the Enterprise managing to randomly beam us aboard?"  
  
"Fifteen million, three hundred and ninety-five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six to one." Spock hesitated, then added, "Approximately, with a point seven variable for who is leading the search and how long it took them to realize we're missing."  
  
"Of course." Jim grinned. "And the odds that we'll find someone who can help us communicate to the ship without getting caught again?"  
  
"Two hundred and fifty-three to one."  
  
Somehow, that didn't seem so bad. "And the odds that we'll have sex again?" He had not actually just asked that. He really, really hadn't.  
  
Spock responded as if it were a perfectly acceptable question. "One thousand, nine hundred and twenty-six to one."  
  
Jim blinked. "What?"  
  
Spock repeated it.  
  
"No, I mean -- not like, eighty million to one? I mean, one thousand, nine-hundred and whatever--"  
  
"Twenty-six."  
  
Kirk waved a hand, and his whole blanket flapped. "--that's pretty low."  
  
"Still highly unlikely."  
  
"Yeah, but not as unlikely as being found by the Enterprise and randomly beamed aboard."  
  
Spock conceded the point with a nod. "We will likely be staying out here another night, Captain, and as we have no more than blankets and body heat..."  
  
That was annoying. Jim scowled and kicked at another rock. "So, wait, you're telling me that you'd only sleep with me again if I got horny and overwhelmed your touch-telepathy because we were cuddling?" That had been a fucking good orgasm, damn it, and he was positive that Spock had felt it, too.  
  
"My shields are feeling quite recovered, so in all likelihood you will not be able to overwhelm them again. And I will be on guard against it."  
  
Jim kicked another rock. "Well... good. But -- not that I want to -- but there must be some other reason you'd have sex with me. I mean, that was a pretty low probability. Compared to zero." How had they gotten on this topic, again?  
  
"Taking into account all possible reasons that you and I might ever have sexual relations again..." Spock trailed off, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. Jim watched him, enthralled. "I calculate that the likelihood is closer to one hundred and three to one. But that is taking into consideration even the inhibition-lowering spores reported to have been found on Omicron Ceti III."  
  
"Ah-HA!" Jim cried, darting forward into Spock's path. Spock stopped and looked at him expectantly. "So you admit that if it weren't for your inhibitions, you would have sex with me again!"  
  
"Actually, Captain, I was thinking that if it weren't for your inhibitions, you might--"  
  
"I'm totally straight," Jim hastened to affirm.  
  
"I see. Then perhaps one hundred and fifteen to one."  
  
Jim eyed Spock, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's not a very different number."  
  
"Being completely heterosexual did not stop you this morning, Captain."  
  
"Stop _me_? It didn't stop you, either!" Jim tensed when Spock stiffened, and scuttled quickly out of the way when Spock's skin washed an odd shade of green. "Are you about to vomit?"  
  
"No, Captain."  
  
"You just turned green."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
And that was apparently the end of the conversation. Jim wrapped his blanket more firmly around himself, gave Spock a suspicious look, and, aware of the idiotic sight they made standing in the desert arguing, turned and continued on.  
  
They kept the four feet of space between them.  
  
**  
  
"Do I have a girlfriend?"  
  
Spock answered with the same implacability he'd answered all the other questions of the day. "No, Jim." He'd given up on creating professionalism with titles when Jim had started calling him Peaches.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I believe you did not want any of the crew to feel their positions would be in jeopardy or dependent upon consorting with you." It was completely rational. Spock had approved.  
  
"Huh."  
  
There was a period of quiet, broken only by their cautious footsteps through the lengthening shadows. Spock watched where he stepped, unable to feel his toes. They'd wrapped as many layers around his feet as they could, but still the cold from the ground soaked upward. The watery sun did little to warm anything. His fingers had frozen into position, clutching the blanket around his shoulders in a vain effort to retain body heat. Vulcans were meant for warm deserts, not cold ones.  
  
"Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?" The last had particular emphasis.  
  
Apparently Jim still had no whisper of memory. Spock refused to be bothered by it. "I do not. I was seeing a Lieutenant Uhura, but as she had needs I could not meet it seemed illogical to continue." Jim looked at him very oddly, both eyebrows arching upward. Pale blue eyes flicked down toward Spock's hips. Spock simply waited, certain that nothing on Jim's mind would remain unspoken for long.  
  
"I know first hand humans and Vulcans are sexually compatible..."  
  
"Indeed we are. Her needs were in the form of emotional support I was unable to provide."  
  
"Ah," Jim said with great authority. "You were a cold fish."  
  
Spock glanced at him, unfamiliar with the colloquialism. He filed it away to look up later.  
  
"Are you sure we didn't have sex before?"  
  
"I am."  
  
"Not even in that cell? There was only one bed. And it was an awfully small bed."  
  
"We did not have sexual relations either in the cell or before." Spock refused to let Jim's questions make him uncomfortable. If there was one thing he'd learned in dealing with Jim, it was that any expression of emotion was seen as encouragement.  
  
"I think we spooned."  
  
Spock did his best to guess at the meaning of that, then finally had to ask. "I am unfamiliar with the term."  
  
"You know. One person cuddles around the other, like cupped spoons?" Jim grinned at him, and he suspected that despite his best attempts, Jim was enjoying his minor emotional responses.  
  
"Ah. We did spoon, but platonically, for warmth."  
  
"Huh." They walked in silence. The small, red sun sank lower toward the horizon. They'd stopped for food a few hours before, pried from the tins carried in the pockets of the jailor's pants, and had enough left for another meal. It would be enough to get them to a settlement: Spock calculated that it would take them only five more hours to reach the nearest village.  
  
The dustcloud behind them made him wonder if they had another five hours. Without shelter, though, all they could do was keep moving.  
  
After another few hundred yards, Jim spoke again. "Did I ever hit on you before?"  
  
"I--" Spock stopped, unsure suddenly if he'd have noticed. "Not to my knowledge."  
  
"You don't think that's weird?"  
  
Spock considered it. "Possibly, as you do 'hit on' everything, from what others say. I'm afraid I have trouble discerning flirtatious behavior in humans with simple friendly behavior."  
  
Jim stared at him. "Not that, Spock!" he cried. "Don't you think it's weird that you can't tell! I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have hit on a man!"  
  
Spock looked at him, baffled and trying not to be. "Then why were you asking?"  
  
"Never mind," Jim muttered.  
  
The wind, dead all day long, was starting to pick up again. Spock pulled his blanket closer around himself.  
  
Jim broke the silence, sounding mournful. "Do I _ever_ get laid? No wonder I jumped you."  
  
Spock wondered if Jim thought of anything except sex. It was getting harder and harder to control his blood flow, to keep from flushing at the memory of that morning. The gentle touch of fingers sliding along his, murky thoughts of arousal... He blocked those off quickly. "I believe you take full advantage of shore leave."  
  
"For all the good it does me. I can't fucking remember it..."  
  
Spock tried to calculate how many days it had been since the _shirai_ had been used, but his own black-out in the middle, and his subsequent interrogation, made that impossible. He was, however, certain that if memories were going to return, they should have begun to appear at a great rate by now. "Do you remember nothing?"  
  
"Only what you gave me back last night."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
Though darkness was falling fast enough that he could no longer make out Jim's features, he could almost hear the very human smile. "Not a good sign, huh?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. Perhaps--" He paused, rethinking his own words.  
  
"What? I don't suppose you could pull them out of my head for me, could you?"  
  
What he'd been about to suggest froze on his tongue. He _could_ , in theory, pull images out of Jim's mind for him. Possibly jump-start the link between consciousness and stored memories. A true mind-meld, not any of the partial things he did to read thoughts, might break down those barriers--  
It was a risk. It was meant only for the most committed of bonds. He didn't have enough practice. Human minds were very delicate. There were cases of warriors bonding together in the history of Vulcan, but that was in the barbaric ages, when they had allowed emotions to push them into war. "No, Jim," he said at last. "I can't." Then he continued before Jim could probe, knowing how the captain tended to grab hold of an idea and refuse to let it go. "But perhaps, if you searched your mind now... the one memory did return last night. That would indicate that others might."  
  
"Yeah." Jim sounded glum.  
  
They walked on in silence. The cold grew. Spock watched his footing all the more carefully. The tips of his ears hurt. He ignored that, as he ignored the pain stabbing up from his feet and the agony in his leg. Pain was a mental weakness.  
  
Jim's breathing hitched. Spock glanced over as Jim stumbled and fell to one knee.  
  
"I -- I remember--" The words choked off, memory unspoken. Jim's hand curled into a fist against the dirt, eyes closing tightly. His breath became labored.  
  
Spock knelt beside him, one hand flat on Jim's back. Even with cloth between them, he could feel the mental torment radiating out, the fight that Jim refused to lose.  
  
Spock could feel what that fight was doing to Jim's body.  
  
"Let it go," Spock said firmly.  
  
Jim shook his head once. The blanket fell to one side. Spock could see muscles standing hard against Jim's neck.  
  
"Let it go," he said again, with more intensity. "This is killing you. Stop!"  
  
It was too late. Arms and legs buckled. Jim's eyes rolled up into his head and he nearly sagged forward, facefirst into the dirt, except that Spock caught him and rolled him sideways.  
  
There was nothing more to be done, as the seizure took over. Spock held him, tried to make him as comfortable as possible, and watched as his captain and friend convulsed.  
  
***************


	9. The Sum of its Parts 8/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

Um. Meant to post this earlier today. >.> Better late than never, right? I'm so getting shot for saying that... ;-D

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: 42,000  
Status: COMPLETE, in the process of posting.

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

[Master list, all previous chapters](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/518610.html).

  
Chapter Eight

Memories were spotty, at best. Jim struggled through the murk, disoriented and confused. His mouth tasted of bile. His breath was sour, washing back to him from under -- something. Snatches came and went.

_Captured_.

\--bellowing, struggling, as arms held him down--

_Locked in a cell_.

\--desperation twisting in his gut with the brittle edge of fear while they strapped one leather manacle around his wrist--

_This was not Spock_.

\--unable to keep his jaw locked, nearly gagging as they pried--

_Hot breath on the back of his neck_.

\--legs skittering over his tongue--

_They had sent him an impostor_.

\--the hard body writhing down his throat--

_The impostor wanted them to escape_.

\--choking, swallowing compulsively, painfully--

_Spock was shot_.

\--everything starting to gray out--

His throat closed, stomach heaving. Hands fumbled at him, hauling him over as he puked.

Spock had been shot. Spock was an impostor. Hot breath on the back of his neck--

Even before he'd finished spasming, he slammed his elbow back as hard as he could. He connected. The hands on him yanked away, and there was a quickly stifled cry. Kirk shoved himself forward, out from under the blanket, into the cool air--

Cool air.

He kept running, staggering on feet that didn't want to work quite right, nearly crashing into the ground.

He was outside. Shards of memory swirled around his head. He remembered being in a cell. He was outside. The air froze him solid, the ground like sharp ice. He tripped over -- something, he couldn't see -- and nearly collapsed.

"Jim -- wait--"

He ran. Scrambling back up to his feet, taking off across -- across -- where the hell _was_ he?

Spock was dead. Spock was an impostor. Captured--

He stumbled, fell, didn't feel it against numb feet, picked himself back up--

He had no idea where he was. And then it didn't matter; a hand caught at him, skin almost corpse-like, and he struck out.

The figure ducked, whipped around, and knocked Kirk flat on his back. The air whooshed out of his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath, and then the man landed next to him, pinning him in place.

"Jim. You must remain quiet. They are not far."

Hot breath on the back of his neck, the side of his face--

He started to struggle (who the hell were 'they'?), but far greater strength kept him down. When he was finally able to breath again, it came out in a pale cloud of frost. "Let me go, you sonofabitch," he wheezed.

"Jim. It's me. It's Spock."

Spock was an impostor. Spock was a telepath. Spock was shot. Spock was emotional and unemotional. Spock had tried to choke him, once. _He couldn't remember_. The arm across his chest was too strong to fight. He kicked, but couldn't get any purchase.

\--captured--

He scratched, unable to get the right angle to punch.

"Captain. _Jim_. Stop fighting me."

\--captured--

\--choking on something hard--

\--vomiting up an insect--

" _Jim_!" The word was hissed.

At long last, shivering, he stopped fighting. He remembered being in a cell. Now he was outside.

_He had no fucking idea what was going on_.

In the moonlight, he could make out pale skin, dark eyes, high cheekbones, a slightly hooked nose, and mussed black hair. He breathed raggedly, wincing as he coughed once.

"Jim. If I let you up, will you be quiet?"

He nodded. _Over his dead body_. Slowly, his captor eased away. As soon as there was room, Jim rolled and leaped to his feet. He didn't even get two steps before the other man hooked his leg and dropped him again. Pain shot through his nerves as he bit his tongue. The man pinned him.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

His captor sounded awfully calm. Jim glared at him. He remembered--

Capture. Spock was shot. Spock was an impostor. He wasn't even sure who the fuck Spock was. With half this guy's weight on him, he could barely breathe. Not that he would have answered, even if he could.

The man's lips thinned to a tight slash across his face. He lifted one hand, and Jim flinched back -- as far as he could, considering he was pinned. "I will not hurt you," the man said quietly.

Jim struggled anyway, as fingers settled on his temple and jaw, holding fast even when he shook his head. "Get off me, you--"

Images flashed through his mind. He bit off a cry, closing his eyes against pain. The images slowed instantly, now feathering into place with great care, playing across his eyelids, soaked with _worry-concern-pain-fear_ until they'd taken up a corner of his knowledge, a tiny spotlight in the darkness of his thoughts. Memories that weren't his: looking at himself from the outside, quick snips of what had happened, impressions that he hadn't made.

Knowledge. The bit he'd been given highlighted how much was missing. The emotion behind it -- honest concern over a friend -- convinced him it was true. He shuddered, swallowing hard against more bile. His throat burned.

"I am sorry for how rough that began. And the emotional transference--"

There was a strange echo, the barest shade of deja vu, and then it was gone. Jim lost whatever else Spock said. He didn't care. "I don't remember," he said hoarsely. "None of it. Why don't I remember--"

He didn't realize he'd raised his voice until Spock murmured for him to be quiet. Kirk closed his jaw against anymore words. He knew more than Spock had meant for him to, he thought. He knew why he'd lost his memories. He knew that what was happening wasn't normal. That it didn't bode well. He knew Spock was anxious.

He knew he'd spent hours unconscious this time, and that he shouldn't have forgotten everything again. Not unless he was getting worse.

"We need to get back to the hollow."

He was freezing. They crawled back to the slight scoop in the ground, rolling themselves up in blankets again. Kirk couldn't stop shivering. Beside him, Spock shuddered, too. _What the hell is going on?_ he almost asked, but as soon as the question was formed he knew the answer through memories not his own.

He knew other things, too. He knew they had to escape, but the enemy was camped less than a kilometer away.

He didn't know where the raw marks on his wrists had come from, when he found them with his fingertips. He didn't know what they'd done to him, other than the facts he'd told Spock and Spock had learned from their captors. He didn't know what the impostor had said. He didn't know what his parents looked like, or what the Enterprise was, or why they were running -- there were gaps he doubted Spock had meant to leave, but they were there. Aching holes where memory should have been.

He couldn't remember.

"Spock," he whispered at long last, keeping his voice so low he could barely hear his own words.

Spock's head twitched. They were tucked beneath the lighter blanket, the heavier wrapped both underneath and around them. It was painfully cold in spite of the layers. Kirk couldn't see a thing, but he could feel. He could feel how icy Spock's skin was, and he could feel the wash of his own breath, trapped between them, and he could feel Spock's shirt rubbing against his bare skin.

He reached out, fingering it. "This is bad. Me, not remembering. This is really bad, isn't it?" He knew he'd remembered before. He could see it in what Spock had given him.

"Yes, Jim," Spock answered at long last.

"I mean -- this is really bad." He could feel it, in the emotions Spock had left in him.

This time, Spock didn't respond.

Kirk smoothed cloth with shaking fingers. "You think -- can we fix it?"

There was a long hesitation. "I do not know." Carefully, Spock removed his shirt from Jim's hands. "We will try."

**

Kirk's memories might have been damaged, but his ability to strategize had not. Though Spock had argued that they should remain in the ditch and conserve body heat, Jim had responded that they should continue walking while it was dark and they were less likely to be caught. By morning, he said, they ought to be close to the town. Spock didn't like it, but the logic was sound.

Since Spock could no longer feel his feet, he didn't have to block the pain from them. It made walking difficult, though. He wondered if their captors had driven them this hard for a purpose, and if so, what that purpose might be. But he didn't express this concern to Jim. He simply huddled up under the blanket and kept putting one foot in front of the other, grateful at least that movement kept him marginally warmer.

In daylight, he'd theorized they had another five hour walk before they hit the village, basing his assumptions on how long it had taken them to get from the village to the prison in a vehicle. He'd been tied and drugged in the back, but he'd still been able to keep some track of the time, and he knew how fast the local transports went.

In the dark, stumbling and staggering, it would take longer.

The sight of squat, raw-built houses seemingly growing from the desert floor, rising with the sun, was welcome.

"Thank God," Kirk muttered, and took off at a hobbling run.

Spock kept walking, putting one foot in front of the other, focusing only on moving forward. He'd bled through his bandages at some point. It was caked mud on the bottoms of his wraps, now. It didn't matter. Even if he'd been inclined to limp, he couldn't feel his extremities. Several times he'd nearly lost the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, simply because he couldn't tell if he was still holding it in place or not.

"Spock! Spock, hurry it up!" Jim bellowed, vanishing into a doorway.

Spock kept walking. One foot. Another. The next step. Still more. He'd stopped shivering. It wasn't a good sign. He didn't pick one foot up high enough -- again -- and staggered, nearly falling to his knee. He pushed himself upward and forced his mind to concentrate on what his feet were doing. In the gloom of the early morning, he couldn't see the ground very well. Better than he'd been able to see moments before, but still not well.

His coordination was going, he realized as he stumbled again, even paying attention to his feet. The planet Vulcan was a hot-desert world. Vulcans weren't equipped to deal with cold.

It was a matter of logic. He knew his coordination was going. He knew he was losing -- had lost -- sensation in his extremities. It simply meant more care.

"Spock, would you get your ass in here? I don't know how to contact _anyone_."

Much to Spock's surprise, Jim appeared at his side. He flinched at the touch of a hand on his elbow, able to feel the heat that seemed to burn from Jim even through layers of cloth.

Jim tugged.

Spock toppled, unable to catch himself quickly enough. Another hand struck his chest and Jim somehow ended up halfway underneath him, keeping him from hitting the ground. "God, Spock you're--"

New voices assailed his ears, new hands with new emotions touching him. He locked his jaw and refused to quail from them.

"--get him inside--"

"--Jor, get the blankets from upstairs--"

"-- _freezing_ \--"

Distantly, he was aware of being lifted, carried by painfully hot bodies, one under each of his arms.

"Someone run a bath!" a female voice called, and quilts were thrown around him. "Lay him here. That's it. Fifth God, his lips are -- has he been poisoned on top of it all?"

"Uh, I think that's normal. He's -- he's not -- like us." That was Jim's voice, and Spock struggled for a moment to explain that he was Vulcan, green blooded, just cold...

His lips and tongue refused to work. He felt hot, blazing fire across his skin, and he opened his eyes slowly -- when had he closed them? -- to see that they were indoors, where it was warmer. Despite the heat, everyone else was in heavy clothes, indicating it wasn't warm at all. Cold. He was simply cold. This was a sensation that was illogical, and would pass.

"All right, get him into the tub. Not too hot, Nara, we don't want to warm him up too fast. Lor, boy, how long were you two walking out there?"

Someone lifted him into a cradle-carry. The world fell away as Jim began to speak again, though his voice grew distant as Spock was carried. It was simple to drift. Drift and -- no, that wasn't the correct response to hypothermia, if that was indeed what this was. He needed to stay awake. With great effort, Spock opened his eyes again and stared into a square face with a lantern-like jaw. The man smiled reassuringly, exposing sharp teeth.

A voice nearby called, "Fifth God, Momma, I think we need a healer! Lookit his _feet_! They're missing toes!"

"No, no!" Jim called, running down the hall. "That's normal! I think. There's five of them, right? Yeah, that's normal. The green blood, though -- that's not."

"Green blood is normal for Vulcans," Spock managed to say, engaging his mind to keep himself awake.

"I mean, it's not normal that your feet are bleeding," Jim hastened to correct.

They went down a flight of stairs, and for a moment his heartbeat picked back up. Dark walls, underground, impossible escape -- but this was some sort of room hewn from rock, not a cell. And even if it were a cell, the very existence of one could not hurt him.

"Okay, boy, we're gonna get this offa you and set you in the tub a spell. Just hold on. Jor!"

Spock flinched at the echoing bellow, so close to his ear.

"Get some clean clothes and blankets."

Hands unwrapped him from his blanket, no hard trick since he couldn't tell if he were holding on or not. Then they pushed him onto a ledge and pulled at his shirt. He stiffened. "I beg your pardon."

"This is no time for modesty," the woman clucked. "Nara, unless you're doing something useful, you get yourself out of here."

"Vulcans are kind of private," Jim said uncertainly.

"Well, then you can go, too."

"He can stay," Spock corrected. His voice was a croak. Somehow, in the dim half-light in which he could see almost nothing, he caught sight of Jim.

Jim gave him a humorless smile and stepped forward. "Tell me where to put him." Carefully, he knelt and, with a question in his eyes, pulled up the hem of Spock's shirt a few inches before stopping and waiting.

It was illogical to remain dressed if they were about to soak him, and warm water did seem a barbaric yet efficient means of warming him up. He tried to give a single acquiescing nod, but his muscles jerked unhappily and he hypothesized that it looked more like a broken marionette than anything approaching Vulcan grace.

It hurt to lift his arms, to get the shirt off over his head. He did so anyway, then let them curl into his body, huddling close.

"Up," Jim said quietly, and Spock was almost -- almost -- grateful for the man who helped him stand. The cold had made his muscles stiff, useless. While the stranger held him in place (he could feel the flutter of the man's mind against his, but was able to keep it out; perhaps because he was mind-numb), Jim tugged his pants down.

One eyebrow attempted to twitch upward. It didn't have time to succeed before he was lifted again and plopped unceremoniously into a tub.

The water was scalding. His whole body convulsed, his breath hissing in through his teeth. "H-hot--"

"Easy, boy." The man spoke, his hands landing on Spock's shoulders to keep him there. The brush of his mind was almost soothing. "It's not hot, you're just really cold."

Jim knelt beside the tub. Spock could see him only as a shape. Jim's hands reached underwater to touch Spock's feet, unwrapping cloth from around them. "This is really gross."

"I ap-pologize, Captain."

"Captain, is it? Perhaps you'd better be telling us who you are."

"We are offworlders," Spock forced out. "And that is all you need to know." He had no idea what side they were on, and he didn't believe Jim's mind was up to the task of explaining -- or hiding.

"I see," the man said. "Well, I'll give you some privacy. We'll be down momentarily with bandages."

"Thanks," Jim said.

Spock heard footsteps retreat, and then a door close. They were alone.

**

Jim tried not to look at Spock, lying mostly-naked in the tub. He still had underwear on; Jim hadn't been about to remove those. There was still a bandage around his upper thigh, too, turning the water slowly greenish. "You should have told me you were that cold." He shuffled the used bandages he'd taken off Spock's feet, finally dumping them on the cave floor before wrapping his own blanket more firmly around his shoulders.

"There was nothing we could do," Spock said, and Jim wondered if Spock could hear the roughness, the halting speech, in his own voice. "Continuing on was the logical solution."

"Good thing we made it somewhere. We could have stayed where we were. You know. Huddled up." He reached into the tub and flicked the luke-warm water. Spock, he noticed, had begun to shiver. Pale lips had gone faintly green.

"The likelihood that I would have made it through the night there is less than the likelihood that we would have made it here." Spock's voice was faint.

Jim cupped a handful of water and poured it over the knee sticking up out of the bath. The tub was small; Spock had to curl up to fit in it. His eyes were closing. "Is this warm enough?" Jim asked, looking toward the door for any of the occupants of the household. "It doesn't feel warm enough."

"It's hot," Spock whispered. "If you -- warm a humanoid too quickly -- it can affect the heart -- and extremities."

Jim whipped back around. "Tell me things aren't going to -- going to start _falling off_."

"I do not -- do not believe--"

"Stop talking," Jim muttered. "You sound awful." Shivering was no longer the right word for what Spock was doing. It was practically convulsing. Jim shoved to his feet, gaze skimming over long limbs, sharpened into definition with strong, lean muscle.

He looked elsewhere. "I'm going to go see what's taking them so long," he muttered, and stumbled toward the stairs. It was all too easy to look at Spock, even bruised and battered as he was. Pale, trembling, with lips that were alien green, naked in a way that had to do with more than a lack of clothing.

Jim had no idea why he knew that. He wondered if they were more than friends. Something tickled at the back of his memory, something not quite his own. Bodies moving together, quick breathing, the hot curl of lust in his gut, the scent of skin and desert...

He hesitated at the stairs and glanced back. Spock's head was curled in, chin touching the water where it rose up around his chest and legs. His eyes were closed, lashes inky against waxy skin, his lips parted slightly as his breath shuddered in and out of his lungs. He didn't look attractive at the moment, and yet Jim couldn't deny there was something there. Something... something just beyond the edge of memory. He wondered.

Then he turned and headed up the stairs.

The door opened before he reached it, and the woman came bustling in, quick eyes flashing over him. "You look half frozen yourself. Problem?"

Jim backed away quickly. "The water's too cold. He's got frostbite."

She frowned and hurried past him. "Hand," she ordered at the side of the tub. Jim was almost surprised to see Spock pull his arm out and hold his hand up. She pinched his fingers. It made Jim wince, but he couldn't say quite why. You just didn't grab a Vulcan. You didn't pinch their fingers, most certainly. You had to be -- had to be careful. He itched to pull her away, but he didn't move.

"I don't think you'll lose anything," she said after moment. "Except perhaps sensation."

Jim grimaced again, though Spock didn't react. "He can't lose sensation. He's -- touch is -- well, it's important." He just couldn't remember _why_.

"Jim. She is doing her best. If, however, there is some way to make contact with the city..."

"Hmm, yes. We'll get you to the intravid as soon as I wrap these back up..."

It seemed like forever before she had Spock dried, his feet and leg bandaged, and wrapped in blankets to head upstairs. Jim stepped up behind him to help him up as unobtrusively as possible. Clean but worn out, Spock smelled nice. Jim stayed close, not touching but prepared to steady him if he needed it.

"You," she said to Jim as they reached the top. "You go bathe, too, then we'll see about bandages."

"I don't need--"

The look she shot him was dangerous.

"Perhaps," Spock said quietly, and Jim noticed that despite Spock's constant trembling, his voice was steady now, "the intravid first."

The woman looked between them both, her eyes narrow and wary. "You sit by the fire," she told Spock at long last. "You," she glared at Jim, "can use the intravid."

The fireplace took up nearly one wall in the small house, with a kitchen on one side and a living area on the other. The oldest man Jim recognized as Nara; he'd carried Spock in, and seemed to be the father of a small brood. Four sons, all looking older than mid-teens, crowded the room, watching them as if they were fascinating. The intravid was across from the fire, set on a little wooden table.

Jim waited until he was sure they had Spock settled (still shivering, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering), and then he sat down in front of the screen they indicated and stared at it.

He had no idea how to use it. No clue who he should be contacting. _The ambassador_ , some little part of his brain suggested, but he didn't know who the ambassador was or how to reach him. "Hey, Spock?"

Spock rose, still wrapped in blankets, and walked over. He looked steady enough, but Jim frowned anyway. He didn't look... well, like he should. However that was. This whole lack of memories thing was starting to grate on his nerves. If it weren't for the worry he'd picked up from Spock and the drive to contact the ship as an all-important thing, and a shadow-knowledge that pushing to get his memories back would create another -- another? -- seizure, he'd be in a corner trying to plumb the void in his mind for anything of his former life.

Spock sat beside him. His face was still pale, his lips still tinged green.

"I have no idea who I should be calling," Jim murmured in an undertone.

One long-fingered hand came out from the blanket, tapping buttons with familiarity. His arm was bare, and Jim realized with a warm flush that beneath that blanket, Spock was only wearing underwear. Jim focused on how sick he looked. His nailbeds were green.

"You should have told me you were so cold," Jim muttered again.

One eyebrow twitched. It caught Jim's gaze, and he watched it for a long moment. "I believe we've already discussed why I didn't."

"Is that what you called that? A discussion? Your discussions suck." He wrapped his own blanket more firmly around his shoulders, glaring at the screen.

"I do not needlessly debate minor points of argument. It makes no logical sense."

Jim snorted. The urge to lean in, bump Spock's shoulder teasingly with his own, rose naturally. He didn't. Something constrained him -- almost memory, but not quite. "How long have we known each other?" And how well, he didn't ask.

Spock's expression was intent on the viewscreen. "Not long. I hope that Dr. McCoy will be able to repair your mind, and return all your memories." The screen flashed color as he stopped pressing buttons, withdrawing his hand back under the blanket. "If you would not mind waiting a few more hours, all your questions will be answered."

Jim frowned at the screen. He was about to say something -- something clever and scathing, hopefully -- when a face appeared on screen. A moment of confusion was followed by a stammered, "One moment, Captain, Commander, I'll get the ambassador."

They waited while the ambassador was found and brought to the screen. He looked relieved. "The Enterprise has been looking for you--"

Spock cut over his words with quiet authority. "We have been found, Ambassador Lark. Our communicators, however, are irretrievably lost. We need to contact the ship."

Lark looked from Spock to Jim and back again. Jim smiled and waved.

"Are you both all right?" he asked hesitantly. "You look like..."

"Shit?" Jim suggested.

Spock didn't so much as look at him, but somehow Jim felt the disapproval, anyway.

"I'll get the ship," the Ambassador mumbled. The screen went blank for a moment. Music played.

"I'm the captain of this ship?" Jim asked, leaning close to a pointed ear to whisper.

"Indeed."

"I don't remember it. You could give me more memories. Like you did earlier."

Spock's expression closed off even further. Amazing. Jim hadn't thought that was possible. Apparently there were levels of bland. "I do not believe that would be wise. They are my memories, not your own, and could cause problems when your memories return."

Jim slouched.

The screen came back up. "All right," Lark said, hidden now behind another screen. "Try this." The screen they were looking at flashed to life, and a young Asian man beamed at them.

"Captain! Mr. Spock! We've been looking for you--"

"Others are looking for us as well," Spock said, interrupting again. "It is imperative that we reach the Enterprise with no further delay. Can Mr. Scott get a fix on our location?"

The smile had been quickly replaced by a business-like expression on the young man's face, his eyes downcast and flickering rapidly back and forth as he looked at something. "Negative, sir. There's too many life forms on the planet. Finding yours is like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"I can give general coordinates," Spock said. "Perhaps if I spoke to Mr. Scott--"

A female voice at his elbow made Jim jump. "If you're not part of this conversation," the woman of the house murmured, "we should really get you cleaned up, warm, and bandaged." She tugged on his arm.

Jim looked frantically from her to Spock and back again. "I'm needed here," he said quickly, while the conversation between the man on screen and Spock stopped in deference to the interruption. "You need me here, right Spock?"

"Perhaps it would be best if you took the care you require. We might have to be ready to move soon."

"Captain--?" the man on the screen asked cautiously.

"It's fine," he said, pushing unhappily to his feet. "Just, y'know, do what Spock says. We'll explain later." Grudgingly, he allowed himself to be pulled away.

The water in the tub below wasn't even luke-warm anymore, but he took a quick bath anyway, not caring that the woman didn't leave. She helped him scrub his back, washing his hair while he washed his legs, as if aware he wanted to get back up to his friend. Commander. First officer. What the hell was Spock, anyway? _Bodies moving together and the softest of words, "Yes."_ Good thing the water was cold.

Jim rinsed and stood, shivering harder, while she wrapped him in blankets and handed him a stack of clothes. "These belong to Jor. They should come close to fitting you."

Kirk pulled them on, fumbling with the ties on pants and shirt before dragging a heavy sweater over all of it. Then he wrapped the blanket back around himself and followed her upstairs.

Spock was no longer at the intravid, but lying some distance from the fire -- kind of in the middle of the room, actually. He looked like he was dozing.

"Spock? What's the plan?" Jim asked, knowing that no matter what Spock looked like, he wasn't asleep.

Dark eyes opened. They still seemed hazy, but better than they had been. "They are unable to locate our exact position. Lt. Sulu is sending a team down. We will meet with them, and they will be used as the locators to beam us back aboard."

Something was wrong with that plan. Jim sifted through memories that weren't his, keeping his voice low when he spoke, aware of their audience. "Didn't the _shirai_ want us to bring down people? Isn't that just asking for -- for -- something to go wrong?"

"The _shirai_ are an insectoid species. The rebel Casari did, indeed, want us to send down the Enterprise or send over the ambassador. The ambassador has already been beamed back aboard the ship, and the crew coming down have been warned."

It seemed all the bases had been covered.

"Here, then. Bandages," the woman said -- Jim realized with a start he still didn't know her name, and he turned to flash her a brilliant smile.

"Thanks. I'm Jim Kirk, by the way."

She smiled back, almost involuntarily. "Lit, and this is Savt house. My husband, Nara, and my boys are--"

"Plentiful," Jim interrupted.

She gave him a wry smile. "Indeed."

"Lit," Nara said, looking slightly anxious. "I've spoken with the authorities in the Embassy, and these men are from the Federation. They need something much nicer than our boy's castaway clothes and sleeping on the floor. Turn out our bed, and--"

"This will be quite sufficient, thank you," Spock said.

Jim had already been commandeered by Lit, who was tsking over his hands. They were bruised and scabbing, though he couldn't remember what had happened to them. Even rifling through Spock's memories gave him only a brief glimpse of pounding at a cell door.

"In point of fact," Spock began, "it is doubtless that they," everyone seemed to know who 'they' were, "will be looking for us. It would be best if we were out of sight until our crew finds us."

"We can't just hide you somewhere," Nara began, distressed.

"The shed," Lit interrupted. "We'll have to send you with more blankets, of course, and -- Yev, get this man some warmer clothes -- but you can tuck yourselves away in the back."

"That would be adequate."

It was increasingly weird to be cut out of the loop. "How long before our crew finds us?" Jim asked, just to ask something.

"They were able to find the coordinates for this village, and beamed down in the town square. I do not suspect--"

"We could take you to them," one of the many boys said.

Both Spock and Jim looked at him quickly.

"We know where the town square is. It's not even that far."

Nara nodded slowly. "If we all go, take the kitterts, we can say we're heading early to the sale, even." He gave Spock a dubious look. "You'll have to wear a hat." Then he turned to Jim. "And don't smile. Your teeth are... blunt." He said it almost distastefully, and Jim had to resist his first urge to grin.

"I don't know if _walking_ is the best idea." Lit looked pointedly at Spock's wrapped feet, then at the bandaging job she was doing over Jim's blisters. They'd opened hours before, and now parts of his skin looked simply rubbed away.

"We can make it," he said assuredly. It was better than sitting around here, anyway. "I mean -- unless it's too cold. Spock?"

"I will manage," Spock murmured. "How far is the village square?"

"Less than a butol. Uh--" Nara looked around uncertainly. "You know what a butol is?"

"Yes," Spock said, at the same time Jim said, "No." Everyone ignored Jim.

"We can walk that far," Spock said simply, then turned to Jim and explained, "it is point seven three kilometers."

Jim's feet throbbed just thinking about it. But he nodded, looking from Lit to Nara. "We can make that."

*************


	10. The Sum of its Parts 9/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

Short chapter, alas. But just think! Friday and Saturday you get more chapters! :)

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: 42,000

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

[Master list, all previous chapters](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/518610.html).

  
Chapter Nine

The resistance had moved faster than Spock had calculated. They were far more aggressive than Spock had calculated, too. And the cold was impinging upon his movements more than he'd calculated. All in all, his calculations were disturbingly off.

He kept his head ducked as they slipped past a small cluster of men going door to door, pounding on wood and demanding entrance in their search for fugitives.

“You there!”

Their whole group froze. Spock willed Jim to keep from smiling, to keep his eyes downcast. Not that Jim's eyes were as obvious as his own. He kept his gaze on the ground, too, focusing on the goat-like kittert. He couldn't feel his feet, but he was able to keep from shivering.

“What are you doing?”

“Heading to the sale.” Nara gestured to their creatures. “We wanted to get there early to graze the beasts.”

“There is no travel permitted today,” the man said. “Not until the fugitives are found. Prepare yourselves for examination.”

There was only one of the enemy standing right there with them. The rest of the man's group was drawing near. In a moment, the likelihood of escape would drop from five percent to point nine.

Spock stepped forward, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to look shorter. “I'll go first.”

Everyone gave him startled looks. He ignored them, and waited for the enemy to come close. When the man was within reaching distance, Spock sidestepped away from the gun, grabbing the man's neck. The mental drive he applied was three times what it needed to be. He tried not to feel a rush of vengeful pleasure from it, but didn't entirely succeed.

As the body dropped, the other guards started shouting.

“Go,” Spock said simply, and turning, pushed Jim toward an alley between houses. “The rest of you, scatter.”

“Good going, Spock,” Jim snapped, dashing down the street. “Now they know we're here!”

“They already knew we were here.”

“Now they know _where_! We could have been hiding in a shed, having sex right now!”

Spock stumbled. Obviously, the cold was worse than he'd realized.

“There! Stop them!” Blasts whipped by. Spock grabbed Jim and hauled him into a doorway, slamming shoulder-first into hard wood. It splintered under his attack. A child screamed as they burst into a domicile.

“We're not gonna hurt you,” Jim panted.

Spock said nothing, dragging his captain through the residence and out the other side.

“This way!” Jim ducked between two buildings, racing down a dirt street. Spock went after him, focusing on running. His leg was no longer working correctly. His feet were like plaster blocks. He forced himself onward.

“We should have brought that gun,” Jim snarled over his shoulder.

Spock said nothing. Nara's point that it would be conspicuous was still correct, even if circumstances had now changed. “Here.” He grabbed Jim, twisting down yet another alley barely wide enough to admit them. They scrambled over a stack of crates, and he pulled Jim down to the ground between the slatted wooden boxes.

“Now how is the crew gonna find us?” Jim hissed. His breath came sharp and fast.

Spock considered the question, trying to think past the encroaching cold. He eyed the wooden crates. “We need a signal flare.”

Jim eyed the crates, too. “Okay, except I don't have any way to make fire. Do you?”

It deserved consideration.

"Here's what I think," Kirk said, voice quick and harsh with his breath. "We go back into that house we just ran through, get something flammable, drag those crates into an open space, and set fire to them. Sound like a plan?"

"Indeed." Not a very good one, but a plan. Before Spock could voice the rest of his opinion, though, Kirk had whacked him in the shoulder and taken off for the house. It would take more time and attract more attention to drag Jim back. Spock let him go. Then, very carefully and purposefully, he wrapped his hands around the crates and dragged them out of the alley. He still couldn't feel his fingers, and he stumbled more than a few times.

At the mouth of the alley he took a breath, gathering strength and plotting his course. Then he moved as quickly as he could -- not quickly enough -- to pull the crates into the middle of the street.

"There!"

He ran. He was stiff and stumbling, nearly crashing down into the road before he got to the alley again, and the likelihood that they wouldn't follow him didn't bear thinking about. He slammed into a wall and ricocheted off, trying to keep his balance while the world spun. He couldn't tell if he was walking or not, couldn't feel the ground under his feet. Arms grabbed him and he started to fight before he realized it was friend, not foe.

"This way," Jim said, and twisted his fist into Spock's shirt, yanking him on. Spock staggered after, struggling to remain upright, trying to follow. Jim kept pulling him off balance, making him run faster, and he didn't have the strength to say he couldn't. It was all he could do to keep moving.

**

The problem with going back into the residence they'd run through was that they'd been under pursuit. By the time Jim had found some sort of combustible, they'd nearly surrounded the place. Luckily, the people who lived there didn't think much of the attacking Casari. It had given Jim the moments he needed.

Spock had gotten the crates out somewhere where a signal fire might actually be seen -- and hopefully not burn up peoples' houses -- but now they had to _get_ to it.

He dragged Spock around a corner, caught sight of a man with a gun, and shoved Spock between two buildings. A shot exploded through the air, and Jim thought he could practically feel the bullet whiz past. What was wrong with good old phaser fire? Why'd they have to go using bits of metal?

"Come on," he said, and dragged Spock in a new direction, trying not to notice how Spock stumbled, or how dull his eyes looked, or the growing green cast to his mouth. They'd warmed him up back at the house. It had to be enough. Spock hadn't protested leaving so soon.

People started to shout. Villagers fought back. Jim didn't know what had happened to their escort, but he hoped they were being rabble rousers.

He found an opening into the street again, staring right out at that pile of crates -- and realized he and Spock were pinned down. A shooter stood at each end of the boulevard, just waiting for them to come out.

"We could make a run for it," Jim murmured. "Use the crates as cover." Not that they made very good cover, since there was a lot of ground to travel before they got to the crates.

There was a series of pops, far away, and cries. One of the shooters twisted to look.

"That's it," Jim said. Now or never. He darted into the road, keeping his head low. He could feel, more than see, the other shooter take aim. Jim hit his knees on the rough ground, sliding to the base of the crates. Cloth and skin tore. A gun fired. Distantly, he was aware that Spock was moving, too, racing across the ground toward the distracted shooter.

Jim ducked his head and shoved the fire-starter into the middle of the crates, trying to light the straw that filled them. More shots went off. Someone screamed. The straw caught, and Jim rolled away, lurching up to his feet. Somehow, Spock had taken down one of the shooters, and he was running -- staggering, half falling -- toward Jim.

And then he was only falling.

"Spock!" Jim bellowed, and launched toward him as he crashed, not even bringing his arms up in time to catch himself. Green splattered across the ground, lurid and alien.

"Don't move! Don't even think about moving!" someone bellowed, and Jim hit his knees for the second time in as many minutes, while behind him flame licked toward the sky and smoke began to rise.

"Don't move," he said, unaware that he echoed the other's words. "Just don't move." Spock's tunic was already turning dark with blood, more blood than Jim thought that pale body had in it. His shoulder was hit. An artery? Or just a lot of blood? Apply pressure. He remembered that. He put one hand over the other and pressed, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Run." The word was no more than a croak, spoken from lips that were too white, under eyes that were too dark.

"Bullshit. As if I'd leave you here to enjoy the bonfire by yourself."

"Put your hands up!"

He threw a furious glare at the man with the gun. "I _can't_! I'm a little busy!"

Another bullet, from another direction, went whizzing by. A new voice shouted, "Now, alien!"

Jim ducked his head. The fire rose. The smoke drifted lazily, unconcerned with what went on around it. "Don't shoot!" Jim bellowed. "We surrender!"

" _No_ ," Spock croaked.

"Shut up!" Jim applied more pressure, feeling moisture absorb up into his sleeve. "You just shut up, you with the memories and what the hell am I supposed to do if you're gone, huh? We surrender!" Jim said again, louder. "He needs a doctor!"

"I'm a doctor." One shooter sneered, his gun still aimed, drawing near and pointing it at Spock's head. "I could take care of that."

There was another volley of pops from somewhere distant, another scream.

Jim leaned over Spock's head. "You want me to call down the ship, but I can't remember the damn codes because of that damn bug. You want the right orders, you'll have to keep him alive!"

The man wavered. His grip tightened and relaxed on his gun.

"I'll do what you want!” Jim cried, almost willing to barter anything they asked of him. “Damn it, we surrender, just--"

And then the rebel's grip tightened again. "You'll do what we want, anyway."

"Son of a bitch, see if you can make me after you shoot him." Jim crouched low over Spock, as if he could protect the Vulcan with his own body. He closed his eyes and held his breath, feeling the flutter of Spock's heart under his hands, feeling the muzzle of deadly weapons pointed straight at him, feeling his mortality keenly. This had to work. They had to negotiate.

There was a low sound, the smell of burning ozone, two quick zaps -- and running feet.

He opened his eyes. The shooter crumpled to the ground, weapon loose in his nerveless hand.

"--found them--" A voice reached over the rising crackle and pop of fire. Jim looked around, saw the second shooter lying still behind him, and four people in red shirts racing, crouched low, toward them. One spoke into a communicator. "--Get a medteam ready, Commander Spock's been injured--"

The tallest redshirt aimed and fired, pausing in his run to cover the others as a Casari rebel tried to take them out.

"Hold on, Captain," a woman said, whipping around and putting her back to Jim's, eyes scanning the buildings. "Stone to Enterprise. Three to beam up!"

The world dissolved. As if he could force it to remain solid, he pressed harder on Spock's shoulder.

When everything came back around him, he was crouched on a pad in a large room, with people standing along the edges, medical gear and stretchers at the ready.

"Jim!" A man with neat brown hair leaped up the two steps, mimicking Jim's pose on the other side of Spock. "What the devil happened? We've been looking for you two for days, and now you just appear, bloody and -- what the hell did he do to himself? Christ, Spock!"

The world twisted. He knew this man. He didn't know this man. Late nights and being a pest while Bones studied. The half-memory sucked back into the void. He reached for it -- grabbed for the tail ends -- _Damn it, Jim--_

The void snatched him up and swallowed him whole.

**

Spock was unable to catch Jim, and though McCoy lunged he didn't move fast enough. Jim's head hit the transporter floor with a sickening crack and moments later he was swarmed by medical personnel.

"Seizure," Spock croaked, but they were already yelling it, pulling him over onto his side, someone else dashing for a hypospray at McCoy's bellow.

"Spock, what happened?" McCoy snarled, while another doctor yanked Spock's shirt back. It tore under a quick blade, expertly wielded to get at his skin.

" _Shirai_ ," Spock stuttered, failing not to wince as the doctor peeled cloth away from the new bullet wound. "His mind is -- fractured--"

"Spock's freezing, McCoy. And -- fuck, he's lost a lot of blood."

"Indeed," Spock agreed faintly. "My sensory perceptions are dimming." He could barely make out the doctor's face, and only distantly heard McCoy bark, "Get them both on the stretchers and into sickbay! _Now!_ "

Everything quickly became a haze of motion and pain, with McCoy's voice as punctuation -- "What the hell did you do to your _feet_?" -- as he tried to tell them about Jim and his memories, or lack thereof.

The world seemed very cold. He took some solace in the fact that it was a hypospray to the neck, however, that knocked him out at last.

***************


	11. Sum of its Parts 10/11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: 42,000

Summary:  
 _Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE, and I'll be releasing a chapter every few days!

[Master list, all previous chapters](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/518610.html).

Chapter Ten

His head hurt less. Which was odd, because he hadn't really been aware that it was hurting before. Now that the pain was gone, he felt unattached to his body.

Jim rolled his head carefully (soft pillow cradling his skull, the rasp of sheets and the weight of blankets) and opened his eyes a slit.

A blond woman sat beside him, dressed all in red, a machine held in her lap. She watched him. "Good morning, sir. Or rather," she glanced at her PADD, "afternoon. If you'll give me a moment, I'll call Dr. McCoy." She turned away.

Jim lunged, snatching up her PADD with one hand, hauling her toward him with the other. "Don't even think about calling anyone," he nearly growled, even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him he was really screwing up. "Take me to Spock."

The woman hesitated. "Certainly." She didn't seem terribly perturbed that he had an iron grip on her bicep, or that he could probably break her arm from where he was. He tossed the machine back on the bed and gave her enough slack so she could walk, but he didn't let her go.

They left the room with its row of empty cots, and he thought he had an inkling why she wasn't perturbed. The main section was filled with people. As the door slid closed, leaving him half tucked behind her in view of everyone, the personnel all stopped to stare.

Jim stiffened and glared, trying to keep the woman in front of him as a shield, the wall at his back.

"The captain," his hostage said calmly and clearly, "would like to see Commander Spock. If you'll all excuse us." And then, as if she wasn't being held in a deathgrip, she began to stride forward. Jim had to either go with her or lose his only bargaining piece. He kept close to her, trying to see all around him at once while she moved quickly and confidently across the bay, past doctors and nurses and patients.

As they made it halfway across the room, and there were more people behind him than in front of him, Jim glared back and pushed the woman faster. She didn't complain. If anything, her stride lengthened and she almost out-paced him.

Everyone watched. No one said a word. At least not until they reached the corridor, where a male nurse murmured, "Yeoman Rand, is he--?"

"We're fine, Brooks. Carry on." She kept walking as if no one had addressed her at all.

The corridor was mostly empty. The single woman they passed flattened herself against the wall as Rand approached, gaze flicking over first Rand and then Jim. Jim glowered, and she averted her eyes.

"Spock is still sedated," Rand said, speaking as if she had no concern at all that he might hurt her. "Dr. McCoy has kept him under while his body warms. The skin on his feet is regrowing swiftly, and the doctor believes that despite reasonably severe hypothermia, Spock should regain feeling in all his extremities. They've been keeping him in the quarantine rooms so they can hold the temperature close to Vulcan standards without overheating the rest of sickbay. They'd hoped they could wake him and move him before you came to, but Dr. McCoy's being cautious. Touch is, of course, extremely important to Vulcans, and therefore we're doing everything possible to encourage nerve regeneration."

She pushed through a set of double doors into a room filled with medical and lab equipment, with a glassed-in room at the far end. Inside the glass lay Spock, under a mound of thermal blankets, his skin almost translucent. A man was with him, stripped down to his undershirt, even those sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, exposing well muscled arms. He held a machine above Spock, and was frowning down at it.

"What's he doing?" Jim snapped, alarmed. He let go of Rand and dashed across the room, slamming through the glass doors --

And hit a wall of heat.

The man looked up at him, scowl deepening for a split second before it cleared into relief. "Jim!" The doctor spun, bringing the machine around to bear and, when it was aimed at Jim, visually scanning the readings. "How's your head feeling? What's the stardate?"

The apparent goodwill made him pause. "Fine. And--" He hesitated, then shook his head to rattle free his confusion, re-focusing on what was important. "What's wrong with Spock?"

The doctor was looking at him closely now. "Nothing a little sleep and heat won't cure, anymore. Now that we've got his God-damned wounds on their way to healing. What's my name?"

"Why's it so hot in here?" Jim was already starting to sweat, and he was only wearing a light-weight shirt and draw string pants. At least now, he realized, he was clean.

"It's forty-one degrees Celsius. A hundred and fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Close as we could get to his homeworld and not keel over ourselves. Jim. What's my name?"

Jim sidled around toward Spock's feet, putting the cot between himself and the doctor. "She," he jerked his head toward Rand, "said he had hypothermia."

"Had being the operative word. Now he's just cold. Damn it, Jim. You don't remember a thing, do you?"

Jim glared, then pulled the blankets off Spock's leg to check his feet. There was new skin there, and it was slightly green -- his first thought was healing bruises, but no, Vulcans were green-blooded.

Still cursing, the doctor stomped from the room and came back a moment later with another machine. "Look," he said, setting it on the only chair and turning it on. "This is a normal human brain." The machine projected an image in the air above itself, a brain rotating slowly. "This was yours when we brought you in." The image shifted. "There was minor damage here, and here. This," the doctor stabbed at a particular spot, "was what was causing the seizures. This," another spot, "is what the seizures were continuing to damage. That's the creation of long-term memory, so every time you seized it was damaged again, and anything you'd learned was wiped out. Sound right?”

Jim said nothing, but the doctor just continued, anyway. “We've repaired that damage -- no more seizures for you, though you'll have to be on medication for a while to make sure the surgery sticks -- and I was hoping it would have repaired your memory, too. But minds are delicate things, so..." He stopped finally, turning to look. "You really don't remember anything?"

He remembered that they'd tried to trick him with a new Spock, though that was because Spock remembered it. But -- this felt right. Jim glanced back toward Rand, who was now speaking with one of the lab technicians. Everything felt like _home_.

So far, his feelings had been correct. He thought. He wasn't sure, but it felt that way -- which was such a circular argument it didn't even bear thinking about.

"I don't remember your name," he admitted grudgingly.

Brows drew down, and the doctor's full mouth compressed into a hard line. "Leonard McCoy. We're friends. You call me Bones."

"Why?" he asked after a moment.

Bones snorted, mouth twitching up. He had an expressive mouth, Jim thought, but wasn't sure where the knowledge came from. "Because you're an idiot. The pointy-eared bastard'll be fine. I'm keeping him under until his internal body temperature stabilizes a little bit more, but then we'll wake him up. Vulcans can direct blood flow to a certain extent -- did you know that? -- so he'll be able to heal himself quicker still. Now, if you want to stay here and check him out for a while you're welcome to do so, but I'm not hanging around in this heat. I'll be right out there. I want to get some scans of you pretty soon, so don't take forever." He picked up his machine and tucked it under one bare arm, then headed out of the quarantine room without waiting for a response.

Jim glanced around, then carefully began to pull the blankets aside, looking at Spock with his own two eyes. Making sure he really was alive. All right. Whole.

The row of small tubes running from the bed to Spock's elbow, carrying fluids and likely medication, wasn't reassuring, but he supposed it wasn't too alarming, either. After he'd taken a good look at everything, Jim settled himself in the only chair and, ignoring the glare Bones was aiming his way through the glass, decided to wait.

At least until the heat got to him.

**

Spock was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. He knew he'd been drugged, and protested it. (It made more logical sense to wrap him in warming blankets and leave him beside the captain. Jim would wake up and not know where he was or what was going on. It was more important to make sure he didn't hurt himself than to warm a first officer.)

Spock couldn't do much, though, as long as Dr. McCoy kept him under. Vulcan control meant he could pull himself conscious far enough to occasionally know what happened around him -- or at least get some idea of it -- but it couldn't wake him entirely, or keep him semi-aware.

Yet, when he felt the light touch on his hand, skin to skin, he didn't need to be aware or conscious to know that Jim was awake and all right. Someone else's confusion and uncertainty were balanced by relief and warmth. Humans were hot, Spock thought in a disjointed sort of way. Jim seemed very hot. But it was more than just heat, it was...

It was...

The faint memory of skin against skin. Enjoying motion and touch. The smell of flesh like desert and meteors. Breath mingling. More confusion; what were they, exactly?

He drifted in a drug haze, knowing Jim was safe, here, and Spock could take the time, now, to heal. He felt warmer.

**

When the doors opened, Jim looked up from his contemplation of Spock's profile.

“This is yours,” McCoy said, gesturing with a machine. A PADD, Jim knew somehow. “You tend to keep a log. Always have. Foolish waste of time, if you ask me, but you did it even when we were in school.” He set it down on the end of the bed, glancing over the unconscious Spock with a critical eye. “We thought something familiar might jog your memory. Especially since you don't look likely to take a tour of the ship any time soon, though Rand would show you around.”

Jim didn't respond. Knowing they'd sicced a fake Spock on him made him cautious, even if some part of him deep down believed these were the right people. He had one constant that he knew of, and that was lying in this bed. In this stifling hot room. Jim's shirt was soaked with sweat.

“Right. Well, when you feel like getting to know us again, holler.” McCoy left the room, the PADD still sitting on the end of the bed. After a moment, Jim reached down and picked it up, flipping it on. His personal log was easy to find, and he opened it hoping that McCoy would be right, that it'd trigger his memories.

_Personal log, stardate 2259.04:_

_I'm pretty sure Bones jimmied my food rations to exclude banana splits. Damn it. I won those fair and square._

_Personal log, stardate 2259.05:_

_I told Scotty that if he found a way to make moonshine, I couldn't officially know about it. But I expect to have a few bottles on my doorstep, anyway._

_Personal log, stardate 2259.05:_

_Man, next time Bones gets me with a hypo... you know, I'm pretty sure reg 30.9c says that, as Captain, I can refuse any treatment that interferes with my captaincy in an emergency. How many emergencies can I think up? I mean, the definition of emergency is pretty flexible, right?_

_Personal log, stardate 2259.07:_

_Turns out the definition of 'emergency' isn't so flexible._

None of it triggered anything. He glanced at the people outside the glass room -- all ignoring him -- and then flipped the log recorder on. “Personal log, stardate... whatever it is. I'd love to know what Spock and I get up to in our spare time.” He flipped the PADD over as if it might tell him something new. “There must be something here...”

He glanced back at Spock. The blankets covered most of him, leaving pale skin looking more pale, with sooty lashes resting against his cheekbones. What _were_ he and Spock, exactly? He didn't feel gay. Could you feel gay? His eyes scanned the room outside, but none of those men looked attractive. And yet--

\--hands pulled his hips in tight, a soft voice moaned, “Yes,”--

Snippets, flashes, bits of memory that bled through. Bits of memory that Spock remembered, even if he hadn't purposefully passed them on. It hadn't, Jim guessed, been pertinent. But it sure did leave him crazy -- like a tickle at the back of his throat that he just couldn't scratch.

What _were_ they? He tried to imagine sleeping alongside that long, graceful body. It wasn't a bad image.

**

The world was an oddly comfortable place. He could hear the faint tap-tap of fingers on a touchscreen, and the odd rustle of cloth here and there. Slowly, Spock opened his eyes. The ceiling of the ship was above him, and he rolled his head slightly to take in whoever was beside him.

Jim, in hospital pajama bottoms and without a shirt, his hair sticking damply to his temples. Sweat made his skin shine, and dripped slowly down between hard pectoral muscles. The tapping stopped, broad hands settling calmly on the interface of the PADD, and Spock looked up into clear blue eyes, light with dark rings around the outside of the iris.

"You're awake," Jim said, and gave that easy smile, now slightly tinged with worry.

"It would appear so." Spock's voice was rough, and he resisted the urge to grimace. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"Two days. I slept through the first one, too, and McCoy took forever in letting you come out of that drugged stupor." Jim looked up, and Spock followed his gaze to see Dr. McCoy striding toward them, entering through the glass doors.

"You two can chat in a minute," he grumbled, "right now I have scans to do. Jim, move."

Jim slid out of his chair, gathering the PADD up and standing by Spock's head.

"Can you feel this?" McCoy tossed a blanket out of the way, and a moment later Spock felt a prick on his big toe.

"I can."

"And this?"

A nail dragged up the inside of his foot. "I can."

"You didn't twitch." The scowl McCoy wore was fearsome.

"I am not human."

The response earned a snort, and McCoy walked up beside him, a stylus in one hand, and pricked at his fingertips. "That?"

"Indeed."

"Good." Sliding the stylus into a front pocket, McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a glare at Spock. "Next time you have the chance to override pain and keep injuring yourself in some misguided attempt to find help, remember that the body gives you pain signals to tell you to take it easy. We almost didn't save your extremities, you know. And you," he pointed at Jim, "don't encourage him. Vulcans are sensitive to cold, and God knows," he switched back to glaring at Spock, "anyone who tears their feet up like you did ought to be forced to walk on your hands. And do you have any idea what sort of muscle trauma you did to your thigh, walking on a God-damned bullet wound?"

"I assume you have resolved any trauma," Spock said levelly.

"No! I haven't! Torn muscles, infection, you're going to have a nasty scar, and you _will_ stay on the braces I assign you until I say otherwise, I don't care how well you can control pain. There's a reason for pain, damn it, and ignoring it harms the body! Even _your_ body!"

"I'm so glad you're awake," Jim murmured, "because I've been listening to this alone for the last day."

"Don't you even get me started," McCoy warned. "Look, we're going to check over Spock, then we're all going on a tour of the damn ship to jog your memory, and I don't want any arguments from anyone. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Jim said dryly.

McCoy only glared at him, then turned and left the room muttering about heat.

"Perhaps it is not wise to bait him," Spock said when the door was closed, "as he is in charge of your physicals."

"Don't remind me." Jim flopped back down into the chair, settling the PADD on his leg. "How're you feeling?"

Spock gave it a moment of honest thought, then said, "Discomfort and weariness levels are within an acceptable range." Jim snorted as if he'd said something amusing. Spock ignored him and continued, "Is the ambassador safely aboard?"

Jim nodded. "And they found the outpost where we were held, too. You were right: the faction had hoped to start an international incident, even let us go in the hopes that we'd call down the Enterprise. They didn't know we could just beam people down. You killed their major coordinator, so things got confusing for them for a while. Made it easier to stop them, which is exactly what orders came through when the Federation heard everything. Instead of creating an international incident, they arranged their own arrest. Pretty great, really. The Casari as a whole have agreed to enter into alliance with the Federation."

Spock relaxed back into bed. That their mission had been successful was of utmost importance.

"Spock, I have... I think they're some of your memories of the last few days."

Spock glanced over, watching Jim as Jim studied his PADD, refusing to look up.

"And I was just wondering what you and I--"

The door opened again. "All right everyone, let's get up and get dressed. Jim, your uniform is out there. Spock, you get pajamas and a wheelchair. _Don't argue with me_." McCoy glared. "I don't want to have to stitch your leg back together again. And don't try to tell me it was just a graze; it may have started out that way but Vulcan stupidity and pig headedness changed that."

Spock glanced back toward Jim, but he'd already escaped the room. McCoy was flinging Spock's blankets away, shaking out a pair of clean hospital pajamas and still muttering about Vulcan pig headedness.

It was illogical to wonder what Jim had been about to ask; Spock would find out in due time. He turned to getting changed, instead.

**

With Spock there, Jim felt immeasurably more comfortable. He might not remember anything, but Spock did, and would tell him if they were actually being tricked.

They took a tour of the ship, Yeoman Rand leading them to the usual haunts: the mess hall, the rec room, his own room, the bridge. Nothing triggered any memories. McCoy's frown got darker and darker, his eyebrows more and more expressive. Of course, all the expressions were annoyance, frustration, and concern.

"This really doesn't jog anything in that thick skull of yours?" McCoy asked as they stood in Jim's room, flipping through holophotos of his family.

"Really doesn't." He set the digital photobook aside, trying to ignore the building anxiety. He didn't care, really. So what if he couldn't remember? It'd come back with time.

He couldn't captain a ship with no memory. He looked sidelong at Spock, who was sitting properly in the wheelchair McCoy had insisted on, his arm in a sling to keep his shoulder from moving. How much was he missing, really? There weren't a whole lot of holophotos of family members, and his personal log entries had all been about shiplife. He _thought_ he remembered something about Spock. Sliding against a hard body, feeling a trip hammer heartbeat... He was sure it had been Spock.

"Did you go through your personal logs?"

Yanked back to the room, Jim glanced at McCoy and smiled humorlessly. "I've spent the last day going over my personal logs, remember?"

McCoy folded his arms over his chest, glowering furiously. "There must be something we've missed. We'll head back to the medbay, and you're getting scanned."

"I've _been_ scanned," Jim protested. "Repeatedly! What do you think you'll see that you didn't before?"

"Your brain," McCoy shot back, and headed out of the room.

Jim laughed, grinning at Spock when the Vulcan looked at him, wheelchair already moving automatically away. One quick glance and that was all, but it made Jim feel warm to know Spock was watching for him.

At least that was a constant, even if he couldn't remember a damned thing. He'd taken to probing at the darkness in his mind on a regular basis. No headaches came from it, now, but no information, either. It was like a slick wall with no purchase and no way around. Or over. Or under. He'd tried.

Maybe another scan would turn up _something_.

**

Another scan turned up nothing. On the third day, at McCoy's suggestion and Jim's easy agreement, Spock took over command of the ship. He still wasn't allowed to stand for more than twenty minutes at a time, but at least he was allowed to use crutches rather than the wheelchair, and McCoy had bound his shoulder so he could use his hand.

Jim was like a shadow, always around, just there in the background.

"Perhaps," Spock suggested quietly, while the bridge crew tried not to shoot looks their way and Jim perched on the arm of the Captain's chair, "you should tour the rest of the ship. Yeoman Rand would be happy to show you." Yeoman Rand had declared that she was Yeoman to Captain Kirk, not just any acting captain. Spock had concurred.

"I've seen the ship," Jim countered. "Maybe watching you run my ship will annoy me so much, I'll get my memory back."

Spock looked at him sharply, trying to decide if Jim was serious -- in which case he should be disabused of that notion -- or if this was another moment of human playfulness. Jim was smiling, and though it was not physically possible, his eyes almost looked like they truly could sparkle. Spock considered for a moment, then inclined his head thoughtfully. "It is true that the last time I commanded the ship, you tried to lead a mutiny."

Jim looked surprised. "What happened? Tell me."

"Perhaps if I refrain from telling you, you will grow annoyed enough to remember."

Jim blinked, then threw his head back and laughed. It was startling in its sheer volume. "Mr. Chekov! Were you here when I apparently tried mutiny?"

Chekov looked around. "A-aye, Captain. Sir."

"Tell me what happened."

"Mr. Chekov," Spock cut in. "As acting Captain, I order you to refrain."

Chekov looked from him to Kirk and back again.

"Just ignore them, Chekov," Sulu muttered. "They'll only give you a headache."

Jim leaned close to Spock, and Spock looked sidelong at him. He didn't quite come close enough to touch. Even at that distance, Spock could feel the body heat radiating off Jim, as if he carried a tiny supernova within. It was odd; no other humans seemed so warm.

"Do we do this a lot?" Jim asked, still with that enigmatic little smile. Spock wondered what the smile meant.

"I am unsure what you mean by 'this'."

Jim lifted a rawboned hand, moving it with the grace that came so surprisingly to him. "This. Harass the crew. Argue on deck. It feels pretty normal."

"All the time," Sulu muttered.

"Lt. Sulu, did you have a comment to make?" Spock asked sharply.

"No, sir. We're on course, sir."

Rand stepped forward then, laying a hand on Jim's elbow. "Perhaps, if you're not in command, we should let Spock do his job? That way your crew aren't second-guessing everything."

Blue eyes glanced around the bridge, then finally settled on Rand's upturned face. "Yeah, sure, if you want to make things _easy_ for them..." He grinned again, and Spock guessed that he was joking. A moment later he'd turned to Spock, clapping a hand on Spock's uninjured shoulder and rising. "Take care of my ship. I want her back in once piece."

"Indeed," Spock said quietly, trying not to feel the heat and emotion that had transferred through cloth.

"And later! You said we'd play chess, right?" Jim flashed a brilliant smile, all crooked teeth.

"Affirmative. As soon as my shift is over." Looking forward to it was completely illogical. It was only to help restore order to Jim's life, and perhaps trigger memories with something familiar.

**

Jim stared at the chess board, wondering where, exactly, he'd lost control of the game. He could _see_ the trap Spock had set, but somehow he couldn't figure out _how_ it had been set. That bastard.

He moved his queen, then looked up. Spock was watching the board, his injured arm in his lap, his other elbow braced on the table. Silently, Spock reached out and moved a piece.

Jim glowered. "Okay," he muttered. "Teach me that trap."

One pointed eyebrow lifted. "You already know this trap. You simply need to remember it."

Jim snorted and leaned back in his chair. "You still think annoying me might bring back my memory, huh?"

"It is as worthy an endeavor as any other we have tried."

Jim grinned. He never should have suggested annoyance would work as a memory prod: Spock seemed to use it as an excuse. Not that he really minded. Sparring with Spock -- even just verbally -- was the most fun he ever had, it seemed. If they were this good out of bed, no wonder they were sleeping together.

The realization made him freeze. They were sleeping together. Of _course_ they were sleeping together. Spock was sleeping with someone, or Jim wouldn't have sexy memories rattling around in his head -- and he was certain that this memory was from when they'd been below. Those were the only memories Spock had given him. Besides, Spock didn't treat him with the same deference the rest of the crew did. Spock let him touch. Spock _teased_ him, even if Spock wouldn't admit it.

"It is your move, Jim."

Jim looked at him, and remembered -- really, really great sex. All from Spock's point of view, which was a little disconcerting. He had an image of himself, but if he reached he could feel -- sense -- see Spock, and knew Spock had picked up telepathically what Jim himself had seen. The long line of Spock's throat, the unexpected imperfection by one ear, the way he'd tasted when Jim had licked the strong line of a tendon--

Jim took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Jim?" Spock was looking at him, and that was definitely a look of concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"Very well," Jim said, and moved a pawn without actually thinking about it. Days had gone by without his memory returning, and though he tried to pass it off as just inconvenient, it was going to drive him nuts. Maybe it hadn't been him having sex. Maybe it hadn't been Spock. Hell, he couldn't be sure. And yet -- he was _sure_.

"That is not logical."

Attention pulled back to the game, Jim frowned. Damn. It really wasn't. "Yeah, well, call me crazy." But he focused on the board and tried to figure a way out of his idiot play.

Spock moved his piece, corralling Jim's king neatly into a corner. "Checkmate in--"

Jim waved a hand, glaring at the board. He couldn't afford to be distracted with Spock; the man was too damn smart. The next four moves were made in silence, while Jim tried to weasel out of Spock's trap and found himself stymied every time.

At last, Spock moved his rook into place. "Checkmate." Spock looked over the board, then up at Jim. "I believe I win. Again." There was just the faintest glint of smugness in the lift of his brows.

Jim cracked up, leaning forward on the table, grinning at Spock over the chess set. He just enjoyed Spock, and was it any surprise? Everyone else on this ship had to follow his orders -- except McCoy, and he sort of thought McCoy wouldn't follow any orders -- except Spock. And he just plain _liked_ Spock. He was fun to needle, and he gave as good as he got, in a deadpan, understated sort of way.

Spock plucked the pieces up and settled them gently in their spots, every movement economically graceful. The urge to reach out and touch grew, but Jim just set his chin on one hand and watched, appreciating Spock in a purely aesthetic way. "How are your mental shields?"

"Quite well, thank you, Jim," Spock answered. He set the last piece in its proper spot, then looked expectantly at Jim as if knowing that wasn't the end of the questions.

"So, you're not picking up random information from people anymore? I can touch you without you reading my thoughts?"

"Is there something in particular you don't wish me to know?" There went that eyebrow again, and Spock tilted his head just so, chin a shade to one side of aligned with his Adam's apple.

Jim chuckled. "Not really." He looked at Spock, and hesitated shy of making a move. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they'd had sex _once_. Spock hadn't made any overtures... but he was so sure. He wished he could _remember_. "Spock," he began, and gave a quick grin when those dark eyes focused on him as if he were the only important thing in the world. "I--" He couldn't quite bring himself to ask. "Do you think my memories'll be coming back any time soon?"

Spock's gaze flicked sideways, as if he were checking some fact only he could see. "Dr. McCoy is the expert in biology."

That wasn't an answer. He didn't think Spock dodged answers often. Curiosity suddenly pricked, Jim leaned in. "Yeah, but I bet you've been reading up on this stuff. What do you think?"

After a long moment, Spock looked up at him. "I think your chances of regaining some memory are good. Human men in your age and fitness group who suffered trauma from a _shirai_ or something similar often were able to recapture a few memories."

A moment before, it had been a game: Get Spock to answer. Now, wariness slid into Jim. _Some_ memories. McCoy acted like it was a matter of time before they returned; Jim had assumed that meant they'd all return. "What are the statistics, exactly?" he asked softly.

Spock holding his gaze was almost worse than when he was checking internal facts. "Nineteen percent of men in your age bracket and fitness level recovered sixty-three percent of presumed memory. Another fifteen percent recovered," Spock hesitated. "Less than half of their presumed memory."

"How many recovered their full memory, after damage as bad as what I have?"

"None."

Jim rocked back, absorbing that information. "Wow. That changes things." It wouldn't change things. He'd just... re-learn. He'd adapt. He was good at adapting -- or so he decided, since there was nothing to say otherwise. He'd get as many of his memories back as he could, and then... then he'd figure out where to go from there.

He met Spock's dark eyes once more. He was glad that if he'd had to hear this, it had come from Spock. Jim took a deep breath, steeling himself. If he wasn't going to remember, he might as well ask. "Spock, you and I--"

The door to the rec room opened and boots clack-clacked across the floor. Jim glared at Rand, but she didn't notice, focused on her PADD. "Commander Spock, there's a message for you in your quarters. Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy asked me to find you. He has a new scan he wants to run."

Jim grimaced. "Of course he does. That man is entirely too fond of his machines." He pushed up from the table, glancing over once more at his first officer. What did you say to someone who'd just given you news like that? "Thanks."

Spock held Jim's gaze for a long moment, inclining his head as if he understood. Jim thought maybe he did.

**********

Last chapter up tomorrow! In the meantime, I do believe people have done that zany LJ thing where you can make it so you get notified when an author puts up a specific tag. Feel free! Just do be aware that I post a lot, and nearly everything gets tagged with "Star trek." If you just want to know when fic is up, try getting notified for 'star trek fic.' ;)

J


	12. The Sum of its Parts 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[alestar](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE AND ALL POSTED! YAY!!

Many thanks to [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ashlan.livejournal.com/profile)[**ashlan**](http://ashlan.livejournal.com/) and [](http://darksideofstorm.livejournal.com/profile)[**darksideofstorm**](http://darksideofstorm.livejournal.com/), for various things. Al for beta-reading and providing a sane mind to my crazy one, and for crazy research (who knew star dates were so confusing?) and idea-bouncing. Ash and Dark for listening to my raving and squealing, and encouraging rather than laughing at me. ;)

Finally, if you enjoyed this and you want to friend me, feel free! Because people follow my LJ for fics, I often don't friend back unless you comment all the time on many posts and I finally clue in and ALSO stop being lazy. So don't feel hurt if I don't friend you back, basically. If you want to follow a tag, I suggest following the 'fic' tag, as many many things get tagged Star Trek. >.<

The Sum of its Parts  
by JB McDragon  
Rating: R/NC-17  
Genre: Action/adventure.  
Characters: Spock and Kirk (eventual Spock/Kirk)  
Spoilers: Uh. There was a new movie.  
Word count: 42,000

Summary:  
_Broken: Adj. Def. 1. destroyed; made into pieces from a whole._

The Casari homeworld is a place that has yet to become unified. The people are ready to join the Federation, but one rebel faction will do anything to stop it. Anything, including capturing a starship captain and his first officer. With Kirk's memory damaged and Spock's mental shields shattered, escape is unlikely. It won't stop them from trying.

 

Notes: Many thanks to my beta-reader and font of information (aka, my pusher and dealer), [](http://alestar.livejournal.com/profile)[**alestar**](http://alestar.livejournal.com/). The fic is NOW COMPLETE AND ALL POSTED! YAY!!

[All chapters](http://jbmcdragon.livejournal.com/518610.html).

  
Chapter Eleven

Another four days saw Spock's leg greatly healed, his shoulder slowly mending, and Jim's memories no closer to returning than they had been before. Spock frowned down at McCoy's fingers, watching as the doctor handled the scanner with ease, running it over Spock's leg.

"All right," McCoy said at last, stepping away and holding his hands under the sterilization field to one side. "Another week, I think, and you ought to be fine to walk around on your own. I don't like the scarring on your feet, though."

Spock considered his bare feet, resting on the floor of the medbay. "The scars do not impede any sort of function," he pointed out. "They are simply aesthetic, and as Vulcans have no need for aesthetics--"

"Yeah, it makes _total_ logical sense to build your houses _hanging from the underside of a cliff._ No aesthetic appreciation there."

"The direct light on Vulcan--"

McCoy waved at him, mouth twisting down in annoyance. "It doesn't matter. Look, Spock, Vulcans are telepaths, right? You do that mind meld thing people hear about."

Spock straightened. "We are, and we do." It wasn't something they liked talking about, but it was no secret, either.

"After Jim met Elder Spock, he told me that Spock did a mind meld. Put images and memories in his head."

It wasn't quite a question, but Spock nodded slowly anyway. "I was given to understand something similar, yes."

McCoy scowled at his boots as he leaned back against the corner between the head of the cot and the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. "If you can get into his head, put images into his brain, can you read his mind, too?"

Feeling as if he were walking into a trap, Spock nodded again. "That is possible."

McCoy looked up at him intensely. "Could you pull his memories back into his consciousness?"

There was the trap. Spock turned the idea over in his head, trying to look at it from every angle, measuring up the pros and cons. "A mind meld to get past his mental blocks would have to be quite deep," he said at last. "To successfully do it with a human requires a high level of skill."

"Can you do it?"

His shoulders tried to knot. He purposely relaxed them. "There is a fourteen point eight percent chance that I would be unsuccessful, and a five point two percent chance that there will be lingering trauma and undesirable aftereffects."

McCoy nodded firmly. "Okay. Let's do it." He pushed up away from the wall, arms swinging down as he headed toward the door.

"I believe that would be unwise."

McCoy spun without breaking stride, planting both feet and crossing his arms over his chest to glare at Spock. "Why not? It'll probably work, there's a very low chance of harm, and if things stay as they are it's a certainty we're not going to get Jim back." His dark eyes narrowed into hard little slits. "Or did you like playing captain?"

Spock ignored the question to address the real problems. "While I do have the skills needed, there are different forms and levels to a mind meld. I believe a mind meld at the level required will create a certain amount of mental intimacy. Among Vulcans, these levels of intimacy are reserved for bonded pairs. Not the treatment of illness. I believe it would be wiser to wait until we return to Star Fleet, and have more experienced doctors look at his scans." It was completely logical.

McCoy smirked. It wasn't a reaction Spock was expecting. Humans were unpredictable. "Are you telling me you're a prude?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't want to have mind-sex with Jim. That's what you just said, right?" The smirk grew.

Spock tipped his head slightly. "It is culturally inappropriate--"

"It's more appropriate to leave him an amnesiac, even though he's one of the best captains in the Fleet?"

"That is a subjective assessment--"

McCoy ran right over his words as if he hadn't spoken. "There's been no improvement, not even any change in any of the scans I've done. It's better to swing off course for the rest of our missions and head all the way back to base just so they can take a look at the same scans and say the same thing I've been saying -- the human mind is too convoluted, we can't bring memories back? You can't tell me that your _emotional_ discomfort with doing a mind meld is a _logical_ reason to head home."

"I-- no." Spock frowned.

"Which is more important: Cultural strictures that matter only to you, or our captain's continued well-being? He's not going to care if you were mentally intimate. Do you _feel uncomfortable_ about it? If there's no reason other than tradition to avoid it, that doesn't seem very logical."

Spock's lips tightened. "I do believe you're enjoying this, Doctor."

Bones grinned humorlessly. "Damn right. Is there any scientific reason not to do it?"

It was moments like these when Spock wished that Vulcan had remained quiet about its peoples' abilities. "There may be lingering aftereffects. A disconcerting sensation of being in two places at once, possible memory transference, all fairly minor. It should fade with time." And, very likely, no permanent link would form. The biological tendency toward bonding would come only from him, and without the rituals that normally followed an initial mind meld, it would be likely to fade. His parents notwithstanding, it was much harder to create a Vulcan bond with a non-Vulcan being.

"So to sum up, nothing bad is likely to happen if we do it, and if we don't do it our captain remains an amnesiac. Is that about it?"

Spock felt oddly like a child being taken to task. "I believe so," he agreed.

"So it's more logical to try."

Grudgingly, Spock inclined his head.

"What do you need?"

He stood up, sliding his feet back into his shoes. "A quiet room. That should be sufficient."

**

Pretty much everything Jim had been doing over the last several days involved his own room or his own files or his own anything-that-might-trigger-a-memory. None of it had involved Spock's room. Even the 3D chess set was in the rec room.

He walked toward Spock's door, accompanied by a silent Yeoman Rand, with a flutter of anticipation, hoping something might come back to him. Had he been here before? Had they spent nights in Spock's bed? Nothing had come back about that, but the more he teased at the shadows of Spock's memories, the more he knew they'd slept together. The clearer the memories and images got, the more certain he became of them. The more they influenced his dreams, the more he saw himself in them, through Spock's eyes. It also meant he'd been having some really good dreams.

He hadn't quite managed to ask Spock about it, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was a reason Spock hadn't said anything. But in a moment he'd have his memories back -- hopefully -- and he'd know if he should jump Spock then and there (maybe _that_ was why Spock wanted to do this in his rooms) or if he should be apologizing for something. He did kind of have the impression that most of his relationships ended because he'd done something stupid. He also had the impression that he hadn't generally cared -- but he cared, now. He'd been watching Spock, he had most of their memories from when they'd been on the ground, he'd read his personal log entries, he'd noticed how every waking minute (and every other line) had been about Spock, he'd enjoyed pestering Spock on the bridge. He was ready to go back to whatever they'd been doing.

Which didn't explain, even to himself, why he hadn't brought it up. Something had stopped his tongue. Occasionally, even something other than Rand.

He paused outside Spock's door. It slid open with a quiet whisper of hydrolics, and he stepped inside. Yeoman Rand remained in the corridor, tapping on the keyboard of her PADD, patient as a rock.

Spock's room was warm. The walls and lighting were a deep red, casting shadows in the corners. Every available space was taken up with decorations or shelves -- in turn filled with more decorations. Disks, equipment, holophotos, a large, broad-leafed plant in one corner, draperies with depictions separating the small rooms, a piece of artistic metalwork seemingly melting up from the desk. Jim felt oddly like they all trapped the heat, making it warmer and smaller. He tugged at the neck of his tunic, trying to get some air.

Spock sat in the middle of the bed, visible from the sitting room past the screen. His eyes were closed, his legs crossed, hands resting calmly on his knees. He wasn't in his tunic, and Jim looked at him hungrily. The same black undershirt that everyone else wore looked crisp and neat on him, despite the sweltering heat. It made his skin paler, almost creamy colored, and his hair darker. His eyebrows slashed across a narrow, perfectly made face with high cheekbones and a slightly large nose. Somehow, that made him even more attractive, shattering utter perfection to make him appear more human.

And of course, he had human eyes. They were closed, charcoal lashes dusting across his skin, matching the darkness of his shirt. His shirt stretched across deceptively broad shoulders corded with lean muscle, slimming into a narrow waist and long legs. His feet were bare, his hands at rest, the fingers curling in slightly toward his palm.

By the time Jim looked back up, Spock was returning his gaze. "I apologize for the heat," Spock said, and his words were strangely quiet. Not like they were on the bridge. Jim felt a shiver run down his spine. Had he heard that voice before? The voice, certainly, but the tone? _Yes_ , Spock had breathed. He knew he had heard it before.

"I take it Vulcan's hot?" Jim faltered a smile, hovering in the doorway between rooms, hesitant about entering Spock's sleeping chamber uninvited.

Spock inclined his head. "I lowered the temperature to more comfortable human specifications, but Dr. McCoy suggested I keep it at a Vulcan-comfortable level as well, to avoid straining myself physically, as I am still recovering and a mind meld takes some concentration."

"You ever just say, 'I didn't want to get cold'?" Jim grinned.

One black eyebrow rose slightly. "I believe I just did."

Jim chuckled. "Sure. Should I...?" He gestured to the room, sidling in when Spock nodded once. The bedroom was as heavily decorated as the sitting area. "You really like your stuff, don't you?"

"As I took a permanent berth here and my apartment on Earth was rented out, and I could not ship my things back to Vulcan, I had to find room for those items I intended to keep."

Jim paused, fingering a drapery with some sort of rock outcropping portrayed on it. "Did you just tell me that this is all you have left of home?"

"There was no time to gather anything when Vulcan was destroyed."

Jim let go of the cloth and took a careful step away, as if his proximity might somehow ruin it. "I'm sorry." He looked around with the new knowledge that this was all in the universe Spock had. It seemed like very little, suddenly.

"There is no reason for an apology, nor an expression of sympathy. The Vulcan colony is doing well, and more such items will be made."

Jim opened his mouth to argue, to point out that they wouldn't be the items Spock had grown up with, that had memories attached to them, but stopped when he glanced at the man on the bed. Spock was watching him implacably. Jim gave a wry smile. "I always forget about you and your logic."

"Indeed. I believe your forgetting is why we are here."

Jim laughed, turning. Spock watched with that same mask he always had, but Jim was beginning to be able to read it. With a smile, he headed toward Spock. "What should I do?"

Spock gestured toward the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."

Jim sat on the edge of the mattress and removed his shoes, then pulled off his tunic -- he'd nearly sweated through it already -- and pondered pulling off his undershirt before he did that, too. Spock had seen him naked, and it was hot. Besides, all the better for sex later, right?

Provided his assumptions were correct. He had to be right, though. It made so much _sense_. He liked Spock, and prodded on by what he remembered, it seemed only natural. He'd found easily a dozen more things that were attractive in the other man, even if he was certain he didn't usually like men. Spock was... different.

He crossed his legs, mirroring Spock's position, and gave a charming, relaxed grin. "Now what?"

Spock shifted forward until their knees touched. "I am going to place my fingers on pressure points along your skull. You should simply relax."

The first twinge of uncertainty made itself felt as Jim watched Spock's hands. Long, graceful fingers with short-trimmed nails settled gently against one side of his face, dry skin moving a little bit as if finding the perfect spot. His flesh tingled, but he couldn't tell if that was because of whatever Spock was doing, or if it was just because of Spock. "Am I going to feel anything?"

A look passed so quickly over Spock's face that Jim wasn't able to identify it. It wasn't reassuring, though. "There might be some discomfort. If it goes beyond discomfort, please inform me."

"So we haven't done this before." It was more statement than question.

"No. Now, if you will let me concentrate..." Dark eyes both focused and unfocused, as if boring through his skull while not seeing him at all. The fingers against his face pressed slightly.

The world gave one slow revolution. He heard someone speaking -- a whole babble of voices there and gone again. There was a flash of images. Blood pounded behind his eyes. "Ow."

Spock withdrew instantly, his hand pulling back just a few inches, still suspended between them. The world settled down again, leaving Jim with the lingering throb of a headache.

"Are you hurt?"

He blinked, closing his eyes tight and opening them again. "No. I don't think so. It just surprised me."

"I'll be more careful." Spock's mouth was a slash, his lips tight. He looked pale, with greenish colored circles under his eyes. Jim resisted the urge to reach out, knowing Spock wouldn't take comfort in touch.

With a deep breath, Spock settled his hand on Jim's face again. It seemed softer, this time. The moments slowed. He could feel another presence. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted, and his brain itched. He heard more voices, fainter this time, and saw flashes of color. Heat curled in his stomach. His toes tingled.

There was someone in the room, behind him, within him. He got goosebumps.

Time slowed farther. It crept on its belly, stretching the world out indefinitely. He saw things he should know, but they slipped through his mind and out again, fading back into nothingness.

Spock withdrew. Jim realized he'd been staring at Spock the whole time, but somehow hadn't seen him. There was a crease between his dark brows, a faint downward turn at the corners of his mouth. Jim still didn't remember anything. A glance at the clock showed nearly twenty minutes had passed. "No good news?" Jim asked glumly. No one else had fully recovered their memories, a little voice in the back of his head whispered. No one else had Spock, he threw back at it.

"I'm afraid not. Your memories are buried too far for me to simply reach in and pull them back out. There is one other thing--"

"Do it."

Spock hesitated as if he might argue, then nodded once. This time, he placed his fingers in a new configuration. "My mind to your mind," he murmured softly. "My thoughts to your thoughts."

Jim fell. It was like dropping into a fast moving river, and just when he thought he'd caught his balance it swept him into the ocean. He was drowning in someone else, and there wasn't enough of him to remain a whole person.

And then the ocean began to turn up mud. As if a dam had broken, more came pouring in. Jim gulped for air and found his feet, felt his memories--

\-- _"Oh, fuck," Jim managed to gasp in the moment before he lowered his head and licked a stripe down Spock's neck_ \--

\--smash in around him--

\-- _"Hang on," Kirk muttered, grabbing for the first wrist buckle. He got it loose before a projectile slammed into the floor beside him_ \--

\--felt them nearly overwhelm him with their massive force.

\-- _Kirk glanced at him. He was familiar, even if Kirk couldn't remember meeting or interacting with him. "We're friends, aren't we?"--_

_\--Delicate whiskers feathering over the back of his throat just before it forced its way down--_

_\--Hands caught his arms, and he yelled before he realized they weren't gripping. They were gentle. Careful. Long, graceful fingers looped loosely around the large bones of his wrist_.--

And more, older, coming up with clouts of weeds and dirt, washed away in the mad swirl and rush of _everything_.

3D chess until the wee hours of the morning, working out what Spock's duties were and what his own were, grinning as Spock offered references, baiting him into attacking, meeting Elder Spock, fury over an exam, drinking with Bones at the Academy, being shot down by Uhura, arguing with Pike -- on and on they went, adding to the whirlpool of Self, even as that whirlpool was absorbed and saturated by Other.

And then he started to see that Other. Watching his mother fall to her death, quiet but intensely angry conversations with his father, applying for Star Fleet in semi-secrecy, trying to be always a better Vulcan, to make up for his human half. And yet as each of those memories rose they were swallowed away, vanishing into the whole so Jim couldn't pluck them out again.

His world washed over and around him, through him and under him. It was too much to absorb, it became part of him as he became part of the Other, and when he thought that he couldn't keep hold of what was him and he'd lose himself so soon after finding himself, the Other receded.

He was sitting on Spock's bed, in Spock's quarters. Only a few minutes had passed. He hadn't been aware of pain before, but suddenly his head was pounding. He winced and lifted a hand to his temple, massaging carefully. "God, Spock, that's quite the whammy."

Spock didn't answer.

Jim looked up, frowning at the blank look on Spock's face. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his breath coming in quick gasps. "Spock!" Jim reached out, and just as his fingertips touched Spock's shoulder, Spock jerked back to awareness.

"I--I apologize for any discomfort it caused." Spock licked his lips, flexed his hands once, and settled them back on his knees. "What do you remember?"

Jim frowned. Spock was green. His hands trembled slightly. "Are you all right?"

"I am merely fatigued. What do you remember?"

Jim thought back. His whole world opened up for him, images swimming to the forefront of his mind. He grinned hugely. "Everything. Spock!" He grabbed Spock's shoulders, beyond excited. "You did it! I remember--" He remembered that they were good friends.

And nothing more.

The sudden stab of pain took him by surprise. His smile faltered.

Spock reached out, alarm flickering briefly across his human eyes. "Should I summon Dr. McCoy?"

"No. No, it's fine." From somewhere deep within, Jim conjured up another smile. "Just filtering through some stuff that wasn't so happy." He picked apart his memories, so many that had been forgotten even of recent events, trying to ignore the hole in his gut. He couldn't miss something he hadn't had. He was straight. Spock was straight. That sex had been an accident.

As weird as that sounded.

Just because he'd grown attached to the idea lately... they were friends. That was fine.

Still, his thoughts centered around Spock, re-analyzing the last several days. Things clicked together in his head, and he looked at Spock searchingly. "You weren't happy when you found out Elder Spock had mind-melded with me. Just now, you said the same thing he did -- that 'your mind to my mind' thing. But you didn't say it before. What's going on?"

Spock nodded slightly. "A true mind-meld is done between bond mates. It is of great significance. I tried something else, first."

Jim frowned. "So now we're... bonded? You didn't have to do that."

A brush of amusement passed over Spock's face and was gone. "Dr. McCoy convinced me otherwise. Please do not be troubled about it on my behalf. Do you feel different?"

He pondered his own head, trying to see any changes. There was an echo, as if he were looking at himself while he was himself. "I can sense you."

"Indeed. As we are not true bond-mates, we will not continue with the ritual to solidify the bond. It should fade within a few days, and disintegrate within a few months."

Somehow, that was disappointing, too. "Can you read my thoughts?"

"No more than I could before."

At least he wasn't about to be thoroughly embarrassed by having to admit to -- what was this, anyway? A misdirected crush. Not that he had a crush on Spock. It was just because of the amnesia. It was all a misunderstanding.

It still felt like he was carrying around a Spock-shadow.

"This isn't going to screw up your Vulcan biology or something, is it?"

"It will not. Though I would appreciate it if you kept it between us."

"And Bones," Jim added, just for safety's sake.

"Indeed."

Jim glanced at Spock, and smiled through the pang of regret at what he couldn't have. Funny that he'd even wanted it, really. He'd never been attracted to men before. "I should go let him check me out, before he works himself into a frenzy. If that happens, there'll be hypos."

One eyebrow twitched upward. "That would be undesirable."

Jim grinned, giving Spock a pat on the shoulder as he stood up and collected his tunic and undershirt. "Exactly. See? Vulcans do have a sense of humor." He headed toward the door, carefully not looking back at Spock dressed so casually, sitting on the bed. He did, however, pause just before leaving the apartment. "I bet you even race, occasionally."

"Vulcans don't--"

Jim walked through the door smiling, pulling his undershirt back on.

Rand looked up at him expectantly.

He tapped the side of his temple with one finger. "It's all there. Let's go find Bones so he can relax, and you can fill me in on our next mission."

**

Even Spock could feel the tension on the bridge as he and Captain Kirk entered, the captain first and Spock second, as it should be. He strode quickly to his place at the science station, standing with his hands clasped at the small of his back while Jim faced the conn.

For a moment, he had the disconcerting sensation that he was staring at the forward screens, glancing at the navigator and helmsman, sidelong at all the bridge crew watching him anxiously.

But of course, he wasn't. Spock pulled his thoughts back, searching for the tenuous link shading from his mind to Jim's. Already it had faded, but he could still feel emotions humming down it. Though he knew he shouldn't, he tasted them anyway. It was nothing like being touched, like having them forced on him. Instead, it was a quiet offering, there if he wanted. He was certain Jim didn't know he was making the offer, but it was there regardless.

"Lt. Sulu, do you have our new coordinates?" Jim asked, still standing.

"Yes, sir."

"In that case, thrusters on full, all ahead." Kirk swung down into his chair, and there was a ripple of smiles, a release of tension. Someone cheered.

Jim turned in his seat, clear blue eyes catching Spock's in a shared moment of camaraderie. For an instant, something bloomed down the bond line. Something warm and wistful, full of longing and desire, with an edge of arousal.

Spock held Jim's gaze, trying to parse out what the emotion meant. Then it was gone, and Jim was turning to ask Uhura a question.

_Fascinating._

\--End!

 

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JB  
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